The Life of Mary Alice Brandon
by JustMeAngrie
Summary: This is the story of Mary Alice Brandon up to the moment she becomes a vampire.I know there are many versions of this on this site, but I am using The Offical Guide as my outline. Rated T.Please give me feedback good or bad.
1. Preface

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Twilight Saga or any characters therin.**

**Thanks for clicking on this story….You Rock! I hope you like it.**

**I have not read a single Mary Alice story on here yet. I will read them all when I finish this, but I didn't want to be influenced by any one else's ideas. Although, I am using the official guide as an outline. **

oooOooo

**Preface**

If I had been born two hundred and twenty seven years ago in Salem Massachusetts, I would have surely faced the gallows. I have been with precognition. Biloxi Mississippi in the early 1900's was better but not by much.

My name is Mary Alice Brandon, but everyone knows me as Alice. I was born to William James and Mary Catherine Brandon on January 29, 1901. After a half a dozen miscarriages and stillbirths, my sister Mary Cynthia was born nine years later. Do you see a theme here? There is a tradition in my mother's family that all daughters are named after their mother.

My father was a jeweler by trade. Pearls were his specialty, and he traveled extensively. He was always a hard man and did not inspire love. His treatment of my mother bordered on abusive. If it hadn't been for my Aunt Agatha and Uncle Charles, I would never have known what a loving marriage was like.

My mother's nickname was Cat. She was the most gentle and kind human being that I have ever known. She was the daughter of a very successful pearl diver. She was just sixteen when she married my father. He called her 'Mouse' because he always viewed her gentleness as a weakness. He used to say she was more like a mouse than a cat.

Born premature, I was very sickly as a baby so I became very close to my mother. For the first few years of my life, my mother believed she was going to lose me. She always wanted to give my father a son and considered herself a failure in that respect. I have always been a bright and cheerful girl. I would have 'feelings' about future events, but I was wrong almost as much as I was right.

Charlie was the main reason I was so happy. Charles Brandon Junior was my first cousin, and he was my best friend. He was only four months older than I was and lived five miles away. He never judged me when I had a premonition. He always wanted me to give him all the details I could. Girls seem to pick husband's that are like their father's, but I wanted to fall in love with a man like Charlie. I wished on every falling star I saw that he wasn't my cousin.

Charlie was with me when I had my first terrifyingly vivid vision. I saw the Titanic go down in 1912. The screams still haunt me. As soon as Charlie could calm me down, we ran to my mother and told her what I saw. We naïvely thought she could somehow warn them, but she did exactly the opposite. My mother swore us to secrecy. We were to tell no one what I saw.

With much fear in her eyes she told me about the Salem Witch trials, and how people may conclude that I was something more that just a young girl. She begged me to ignore the things I felt and saw because she didn't want to lose me too. I thought she was still upset at losing her father the past winter. But later that night, she told me the real reason for her fears.

My mother's heart belonged to a dead boy. With much emotion, she told me about Elliot. They were in love and had planned to run away, but he drowned the night before they were to leave. He worked as a diver for my grandfather. Like her father, Elliot seemed to know where to find the best pearls. She was shattered into a million pieces and so when her father arranged her marriage to a business associate, she did not put up a fight. But she always wondered, if my grandfather had something to do with Elliot's death.

After that evening, I told only Charlie about my visions, and my mother on occasion. That was until I saw a classmate in trouble. Sarah and I were friends in finishing school, and she was planning to marry an older man just after graduation. I saw that soon after they wed, her new husband would bring his violently insane sister home to live with them. Her life with this man would be filled with shame and unspeakable horrors. I warned her, but Sarah went ahead with the marriage anyway. She soon realized that I was correct, and that she had made a huge mistake.

Instead of being angry at her new husband, she was enraged at me. She told the congregation of her church that I had put a curse on her. Everywhere I went after that, people would point and stare. I heard words like witch and devil. Sometimes they would fall at my feet and start to pray for me. I went out in public less and less until finally I avoided it altogether. If it weren't for Charlie's support I might have started to believe that I was evil.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One – Charlie's Departure**

"Please don't go Charlie," I begged, "There's going to be an accident I swear. I wouldn't lie about this."

"You just don't want me to leave you," Charlie shook his head sadly, "You are going to be just fine here without me. It'll only be a year and then I'll be back for you. We'll go to New York like we always talked about."

"It won't be just a year," I wailed, "It will be forever!"

"Alice stop this," Charlie said in frustration, "First you said my train would derail so I cancelled my ticket. That would have given us a few extra days to say goodbye. Now I have to take an uncomfortable stagecoach today to be in Colorado by the first. No one rides stagecoaches anymore. I hear they will have motorized stagecoaches in a couple of years and…"

"The train will derail and crush your stagecoach," I screamed.

"That's ridiculous," Charlie admonished, "You know how ludicrous that sounds? Why didn't you tell me about the stagecoach before?"

"I didn't see it," I shrieked, "because I watched you die!"

"That is quite enough of that young lady," my Aunt Agatha scolded, "Charles has an incredible opportunity waiting in Denver so do not spoil this for him with your foolishness."

"It's not foolishness," I choked out and threw myself at him, "I won't let you die. I am going to find a way to save you. I'll tell everyone on that stagecoach if I have to."

"You will do no such thing!" Aunt Agatha said in outrage, "You need to know your place."

"Mom please don't," Charlie pleaded softly.

She ignored him and continued, "I am his mother and you are nothing to him little girl. You are old enough to know.… you are a Brandon in name only. Your tart of a mother was already with child when she married William."

Charlie argued with his mother, but I didn't hear a thing. My thoughts raced. It was like there was a hive of bees in my head. Elliot was my father, and I wondered if my mother would have ever told me. So many things finally made sense now. I now knew why the man I'd thought of as my father withheld love from me, and showered my sister with affection.

I suddenly realized that Charlie had known. How long had he known? How could he not tell me? I wondered if he loved me like I loved him? My wishes had come true. He was not my blood. Then the deafening sound of screeching brakes and twisting iron filled my ears. I watched in horror once again as Charlie frantically tried to open the stagecoach door to find it impassable. The only difference this time was that he said, "sorry Alice" a split second before he disappeared in a tidal wave of iron, sand and debris.

"Charlie," I whimpered as I snapped out of my vision.

"I'm here," he said and enveloped me in a hug, and I noticed my Aunt watching us closely.

"I love you," I whispered in his ear, "Please don't leave?"

"I love you too," he sighed, "I have to go."

"I would never lie to you," I sobbed.

"I know," he said and walked away.

He climbed into their Model T, and I watched as they drove away. When they had traveled about one mile, I began to run. The car disappeared from my sight, but I didn't slow down. My vision remained unchanged, but I pressed on. When I reached the station, he was gone. My lungs burned, and my muscles ached. I doubled over and threw up my breakfast. A kind man asked me if I was okay, and I asked him when the Denver stage had left without answering his question. I had missed Charlie by thirty minutes. I thanked him and made my way to a bench.

I considered stealing a motor car and trying to delay the stage, but the vision didn't change. I planned to sabotage the train, but the only thing that changed was the engine. I concluded that it must be something on the tracks that causes the derailment. I considered going down to the depot the day after next to warn them, and the vision got fuzzy. I held onto that tiny piece of hope as I made my way home.

My Aunt and Uncle's Model T sat out front, and there was an older motor buggy I didn't recognize parked behind it. A doctor from the local asylum waited inside for me. I went around back to the rain barrel and splashed water on my face. When I felt I looked presentable, I went inside to face the music. It was easy to tell him what he wanted to hear when we were alone. I said I lied about everything to get him to stay with me. I told the man I felt much remorse and that I would never do it again.

The doctor left, but my Aunt lingered. She voiced her skepticism to my mother, and my mom assured her she would talk to me. She still argued that I should be punished, but she never mentioned any thing about telling me about my true father. I didn't have the heart to tell mom. Because when my Aunt left, my mother's worried eyes made me want to cry. I told my mother everything as she brushed out my long black hair. Her worry became more intense as I told her about my plans to go to the train station to warn them.

My mother begged me to let her go in my place. This type of behavior was expected of me so I refused, but she eventually wore me down. I warned her that there was the possibility that father would be returning the following evening. She paid it no mind as she had a plan. The next thirty two hours were nerve wracking. I tried to hold onto hope, but tears would leak from my eyes at regular intervals. My mother tried to be strong for me, but I could tell she was worried.

My father returned as predicted. He didn't notice or ignored the tense atmosphere of the house. He must have stopped by his brother's home because he would look at me and shake his head. Early the following morning, my mother claimed she was going out to work in the orchard. As soon as she exited out the back door, I descended the stairs intending to follow her.

"Good morning Father," I said brightly but not feeling it, "I am going out to help Mama."

"Do you think me a fool?" he snapped and crossed his arms defensively.

"Pardon?" I asked in surprise.

"Your Aunt Aggie told me all about your foolishness the other day," he said disdainfully, "I have a _feeling_ that you are up to no good this morning. Am I correct in this assumption?"

"Yes sir," I sighed.

"I thought you would have learned your lesson after all the embarrassment with your friend Sarah," he scolded, "You are very lucky I have no clients in this town."

"Yes sir," I said trying to keep my tone respectful.

"Why do you insist on embarrassing this family?" he asked in frustration, "Think of your little sister and how the other children at school tease her."

"Yes sir," I said sadly.

"I know you were going down to the train station," he suddenly barked, "All you would have done was shame me once again. If it weren't for the disgrace of it, I would let you go down there and get arrested. Then you would be their problem."

"Yes sir," I sighed.

"Well you are not going to slip out as soon as I turn my back," he vowed, "Make a batch of sweet bread, and I'll read my paper at the kitchen table."

"Yes sir," I said crestfallen.

He was true to his word. He followed me to the kitchen. After he had me make him a cup of tea, he sat and read while I worked. I tried not to think about my mother, but I kept getting flashes. I was just setting the dough to rise when my sister skipped into the kitchen.

"Morning father. Morning Alice," she chimed, and my blood ran cold, "Where's Mama?"

"Good morning sweetheart," my father said as he continued to read, "Your mother is working in the orchard this morning."

"No," Cynthia said confused, "She saddled Buster and rode off awhile ago."

"Alice!" he roared, "What have you done?"

He didn't wait for an answer. Tears sprung to my sister's eyes as he moved quickly out the back door. His motor carriage roared to life, and I gathered Cynthia into my arms. The engine whined in complaint as he sped away from the house. I tried to comfort my sister, but I was filled with dread.

"I didn't mean to get Mama into trouble," Cynthia sobbed.

"It's not your fault," I soothed as I brushed hair from her face, "This is all my doing. When father returns, I will tell him as much."

"That will only make him more angry," she choked out.

"Yes," I said softly, "But at least it will be at me and not Mama."

"I hope your right," she said doubtfully.

"Me too Sissy," I sighed, "Me too."

It was quite some time before we heard my father's automobile. He didn't trust my mother to ride Buster home so he led the gelding from the car. My mothers eye's were wary, and her face was white as milk. A pang of guilt and regret twisted inside me. My father's words rang in my ears, but I pushed them back.

Thoughts of Charlie reminded me of why we had braved my father's wrath. The grim vision returned and was nearly unchanged. There might have been a few less people on the train, but I couldn't be sure. I wept silently as my father directed my sister to put Buster in the barn. She didn't argue, but it was apparent that she wished to stay.

I perched on the settee with my mother as my father paced in front of us. He fumed but did not say a word. My mother took my hand in hers and stared at the floor. I wondered what my mother was thinking. Did she hate me? As if in answer, she looked at me and smiled.

"I'm so sorry Mama," I whispered.

"Now your sorry?" father screeched, "Now after _your_ mother makes a fool of all of us. When I arrived at the station, she was wailing like a banshee about how they were all going to die. Those people did not warrant being frightened that way. Many of them left when they couldn't comfort their crying children."

"We saved children?" I asked my mother hopefully.

"Yes, at least a dozen," she replied brightening a little, "Their families too. Eight were from one family. German immigrants I thi…"

"Enough!" my father boomed, "This has got to end. No more of this foolishness or I will throw you both out into the street."

"My Papa left this house to me in trust," my mother argued quietly.

A split second before he swung, I saw my father backhand my mother across the face. Without a thought, I leaned in front of her, and I caught the hit just behind my right ear. The ringing began, and my mother yelped into my other ear. My eyes swam out of focus for a moment but came back in the next.

"Alice honey?" my mother said her voice full of worry, "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay Mama," I reassured her as I shook my head.

"Don't you ever lay a hand on _my _girl again," Mama hissed at my father.

"I meant it for you," he glowered as he gingerly rubbed his hand, "You were being disrespectful and I won't stand for that."

"I did not intend it to be disrespectful," my mother began trying to diffuse the potentially explosive situation, "I didn't want Alice to be in fear of being homeless."

"You coddle her when you should punish her," he said through his teeth, "None of this would have happened if it weren't for her foolishness."

"We were only trying to save your nephew's life," Mama sighed.

"This is the nonsense I am talking about," my father said in frustration, "Charles Junior will be fine. Alice was just trying to keep him from leaving, and you let her draw you into this absurd situation. I expect this from her, but you my dear wife are an adult. You should act accordingly."

"I'm sorry William," Mama resigned and stared at her hands.

"Thank you mouse," he replied kindly as the anger visibly drained from his face, "Can I trust that you will not be involved in anything like this again?"

"Yes," she said softly, "I will not embarrass you in public ever again. You have my word."

"Thank you Catherine," he said and then turned to me, "Alice my dear girl, I apologize for loosing my temper and striking you. Please forgive my moment of weakness? I can see now that anger has only escalated the situation. I know you can not help how you feel so I will try and be more understanding. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

I sat there confused for several moments. My father smiled at me like he smiled at my sister. My mother's face mirrored my own confused expression. I didn't know what to do. Had I been hit hard enough to cause delusions?

"You're forgiven," I said unsure.

"Oh thank you honey," he exclaimed and picked me up into a hug, "I want things to be different between us from now on. I hope it's not too late to mend what's broken."

"I don't know," I said completely bewildered as I had never heard him speak this way my entire life.

"I know it will take time," my father said kindly as he set me down on my feet, "I am willing to make that commitment. Next time you have one of your feelings sweetheart talk to me about it too. Maybe I can help. I can be pretty savvy when I need to be. We can figure out a way to warn people without bringing so much negative attention to the family."

I looked at his smiling face, and it looked wrong to me. I wanted so much to believe what he was telling me. I wanted a father more than anything else. In the back of my mind, I didn't trust him. He was essentially a salesman so he could very easily put on a false face. I ultimately decided to make my mother's life easier.

"Okay, I will try," I said hesitantly, "May I ask you a question father?"

"Sure," he said happily, "Consider it my first peace offering."

"What would you have done if I had told you about Charlie's train?" I asked truly curious.

"I would have driven him to Denver myself," he said without missing a beat, "Then everyone would have been happy. There are some promising business opportunities there so even I would have benefited."

"Oh," was all I could say as tears filled my eyes.

"Don't cry sweetheart," he said and pulled me into his arms and hugged me again, "Charlie will be fine."

"I hope so father," I choked out, "I have never wanted to be wrong more in my whole life."

"Come here Catherine," he beckoned, and she looked at him curiously.

As soon as she was on her feet, my father gathered her into our embrace. It felt a little strange to stand there that way. Then it really became awkward when Cynthia returned from her chore. She ducked under my father's arm and became the center our peculiar huddle. Father planted a kiss on each of our foreheads, and my sister beamed with happiness.

**oooOooo**

**Thank you for giving this a read, and I would appreciate a review good or bad. I am working on the next chapter so please let me know if you are interested in reading it.**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - The Marked Man**

It took over two weeks after the derailment before they notified my aunt of Charlie's death. The first thing she did was visit me. She found me in the orchard helping my mother. Luckily, Uncle Charles was there to keep her from beating me to a pulp. She screamed that I had killed her son by cursing him with my bad luck, and that I had jinxed him somehow.

My mother and I were not allowed to attend the funeral or the interment services nearly a week later. I thought all was lost until my father had an idea. With his help, I snuck into the choir loft for the service. At the cemetery, I was able to hide in the woods. I couldn't hear much from my vantage point, but I took solace in knowing I was there. After everyone left and went to my aunt's home, I was able to spend a long time at Charlie's grave.

My family was my rock over the next several weeks. My father didn't travel as much, and he was more supportive than I ever thought possible. The days that I just couldn't function, they all pitched in and took care of my chores. It was amazing to me how close knit we all became. It helped fill the canyon in my heart that Charlie left.

My father was the biggest surprise of all because he kept his word. He really became my father. There were no more arguments, and he looked at me with love instead of disapproval. He joked around with my sister and I and made us laugh a lot. Even after he returned to his traveling, he would bring me gifts when he came home. I still thought about Charlie every day, but I don't think I had ever been happier. Like everything in my crazy life, my bliss was short-lived.

I woke from a bittersweet dream. Charlie and I had made it to New York, and we were planning our wedding. He was an intern at a large law firm, and I was designing clothes for Macy's Department Store. We were doing well. It didn't take long for a stab of regret to wake me completely. He was gone, but maybe I would see him again one day like they said at his funeral. I was daydreaming about that when a vision interrupted.

_A man with a small strawberry birthmark under his left eye was drawing on a hand rolled cigarette. He was leaning against a tree and staring intently at something. I followed his line of sight to find my mother. She was working in the orchard like she does nearly every morning. My sister Cynthia came bounding out the back door with my mother's pocket book in her hand. The stranger made a quick note of her presence and then went back to observing my mother. Mama took her pocketbook and headed down a well worn path near the road. I knew she was on her way to buy eggs at the Wellman's farm on the edge of town. _

_The stranger was on the move now. He jogged parallel to mama and took great care to stay out of sight. When she was in an area that curved away from the road, he attacked. As he snuck up behind her, he raised an axe handle high above his head. He brought it down on her head, and she crumpled to the ground without a sound. He grabbed her under the arms and drug her deeper into the wood. His eyes never left my mother as he retrieved a skeletal paw that had been tied to his belt. It had been cleaned of hair and flesh, but it still had wicked claws at the end of each digit. He began gouging and stabbing my unconscious mother with the strange weapon._

A bone chilling scream startled me out of the vision, and I soon realized that I was the one screaming. Not even a minute later, my sister burst through my bedroom door holding my mother's pocketbook. She was asking what was wrong, but all I could do was stare at the object in her hand. He was out there in the woods right now. The man with the birthmark was waiting to kill my mother.

"Alice?" my mother asked from the doorway, "What is it? Are you hurt?"

"Mama," I cried out as tears sprung to my eyes, "Oh Mama."

She was over to me in less than a moment trying to soothe me, "It's okay sweetheart. I'm right here. Did you have a bad dream?"

"I wasn't dreaming," I sobbed into her shoulder, "I saw a man kill you mama. You were on your way to the Wellman's and he…he…attacked you."

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" my sister asked quietly, "Who would want to kill Mama?"

"A man with a birthmark under his eye," I said seeing the marked man's face in my head, "He has brown hair and dark eyes. His skin has all kinds pock marks on it even on his ears. His nose is wide and crooked like it's been broken a few times."

"Does he want to rob me?" Mama questioned.

"I don't think so," I choked out, "He just kills you."

"Well, I'll just wait to get eggs from the Wellman's," mama offered, "He should be gone in an hour or so."

"No," I said sadly and looked at my sister's hand, "He's in the woods right now watching and waiting. He saw Cynthia bring your pocketbook out to you."

"Oh God have mercy," my sister squeaked and crossed to the window, "Do you think he's still out there?"

"I do." I answered simply.

"Do you think he'll come in here?" Cynthia asked searching the woods.

"I don't know," I replied truthfully.

"I just saw movement," my sister hissed and ducked down below the window sill, "I saw smoke too."

"He smokes cigarettes," I said with no emotion.

"What are we going to do?" Cynthia asked now visibly frightened.

The fear in my sister's eyes awakened something in our mother. She drug us both along with her to her bedroom down the hall. She directed us to lock the windows and close the curtains. She went directly to her closet and opened the crawl space. Half of her disappeared inside, and she reappeared with an ornate wooden box in her hands.

"What's that Mama?" Cynthia asked as she closed the curtains.

"My father's Colt Peacemaker," she said and opened the box on the bed, "William wanted me to sell it, but I just couldn't part with it. Now I'm glad I have it."

"A gun," my sister said in awe, "Do you know how to shoot it?"

"My papa taught me when I was about your age," she replied as she loaded the revolver, "I am a good shot too."

"Have you ever shot anyone?" Cynthia asked curiously.

"Of course not! I have killed several alligators with this though," she answered and turned away from the box on the bed, "Okay, now we are all going downstairs to lock the windows and doors."

We stayed together at my mother's insistence, and locked every window and door. Cynthia found tiny bells that we use as Christmas tree ornaments and tied them to each door. To be on the safe side, we blocked the front and back doors with heavy pieces of furniture. That first day, we all were jumpy. Every noise would startle us. We stayed together, and Mama kept the loaded revolver in her apron. We scanned the woods from an upstairs window, but didn't catch movement until well after dark.

Supper was a silent affair. A pinkie mouse has a better appetite than we did. We did the best we could cleaning up after dinner as we had to go outside to prime the pump. Mama said if we had seen no sign of him by morning, we would take the chance. We could have used our drinking water, but we had to conserve. There was no way of telling when we could go outside again.

Our sleeping quarters were set up in my parents' room. It was a large room with windows on two sides of the house. An adjoining sitting room had a small window that overlooked the front yard. The plan was to take turns keeping watch, and my mother took the first shift. Cynthia settled into my parents' large bed. I didn't lay there long because I saw the marked man mutilating my mother every time I closed my eyes.

I slipped out of the bed and gave Cynthia's sleeping form a backwards glance. I wished I could have gotten some rest. I went to sit with my mother. The only sound in the room was my sister's soft snore. We sat there quietly on the window seat for a long time, and then finally I pulled back the curtain to look out into the night. Dozens of fireflies slowly blinked like hovering stars. My sight honed in an alien orange glow that would grow in intensity every few seconds. I gasped when I realized that the glow was not a firefly.

"He no sooner snuffs one out then lights another," my mother whispered, "You would think he would run out of cigarettes smoking them that way."

"He is still out there," I said in disbelief, "I wish I could read minds then I would know why he's doing this."

"I think he's ill," Mama said softly, "Like the one they call Jack the Ripper he kills for the fun of it."

"If that were the case, don't you think he would have given up by now?" I asked bewildered, "moved on to someone else."

"He is fixated on me, and he won't give up until I'm…" she said, "Alice I need to tell you something."

"It sounds like you are giving up," I choked out, "We will get through this Mama."

"I'm not giving up honey," she assured, "I just should have told you a long time ago. My first love, my always love Elliot is really your father."

I didn't have the heart to tell her how I found out so I said, "So many things make sense now."

"You're not angry with me?" she asked in a small voice.

"No mama," I said and hugged her tightly, "I love you."

"And I love you," mama said her voice full of emotion.

For the next few hours, my mother told me all about Elliot. In my minds eye, I could almost see him. It would have been a nice distraction, but the marked man's cigarette glowed almost constantly. When he would light a fresh one, I would get a quick flash of his face. I turned my back to the window because it was getting a little overwhelming.

"I've done something awful," my mother whispered.

"What is it Mama?" I asked doubting my mother could ever do anything awful.

"Well," she began to confess, "A few days after I tried to stop the train, I went to visit my father's lawyer. I guess he's my lawyer now."

"Are you leaving father?" I asked a little too loudly because Cynthia's snore stuttered.

"Oh heavens no," she said softly and then waited until she was sure my sister had stayed asleep, "He oversees the Trust my father left me, and I was still angry about William striking you so I….I added your name."

"Why?" I gasped.

"Well," she quietly explained, "So that you would always have a home and means to live on. My father was not a wealthy man, but he left a substantial estate. I realized that if something happened to me, William may disown you. It frightened me to think you being destitute."

"Father has been so different lately," I offered.

"That's why I feel awful about it," Mama said sadly.

Not long after my mother's confession, she woke Cynthia to take over the watch. I sat up with her for just over an hour. Just before dawn, the man's tiny ember disappeared deeper into the woods. Exhaustion finally won, and I crawled into the huge bed with my mother.

The sun was high in the sky when I finally woke. My mother was again sitting on the window seat peaking out, and Cynthia was in the sitting room reading. As soon as I was up and around, we all adjourned to the kitchen for something to eat. As we ate, they updated me on what had happened while I slept, and it wasn't much. Cynthia had caught some movement mid-morning, but it was in a different area than the previous night. When I was finishing my sweet bread, I had a vision of father returning on Saturday morning. When I informed my sister and mother, they were unhappy about being cooped up for four more days.

We considered going for the Sherriff, but what would we tell him? Could we sneak down to the neighbors? Our conclusion was that we would be putting the Campbell family in danger. After we weighed all the options we could think of, we decided to wait until my father returned. We then set to doing inventory. The food would hold out-but just barely. The water would present a problem, but Mama said that we would worry about that in a couple days.

So the minutes and hours moved, but at a snails pace. We all tried to keep ourselves occupied. Cynthia had the best luck with that because she loved to read. I tried reading, but I couldn't focus on any of the words. I helped my mother keep house. Dirty dishes and laundry were beginning to pile up as we couldn't spare the water. It wasn't all bad; we had a lot of time to talk. We shared our hopes and dreams with each other, and my mother told us stories.

Our conservation paid off as we didn't run out of water until Friday evening. That night's supper was sparse, but our spirits were high. We had survived five days, and the end of our ordeal was just hours away. The little bit of sweet bread we had for desert was stale, but we hardly noticed. After clearing the table and extinguishing the gaslights, we made our way upstairs.

When we were all in our nightgowns, Mama took her place on the window seat but didn't look out. Cynthia and I crawled into bed. We were just settling down when a noise startled us into silence. No one breathed, and then the noise came again. Something had hit the side of the house. Mama pulled the curtain back and dropped it back into place.

"He's standing in the back yard," she quavered, "And he's throwing rocks."

I was out of the bed in a flash. When I looked out the window, he was gone. I shot a questioning look back at my mother, and she hesitantly looked out.

"He was standing right there next to the clothes line," she hissed.

A loud pounding echoed through the house, and my sister cried out in fear. The marked man was beating on the front door. I darted into the sitting room and looked out the window. I only caught a glimpse of him rounding the corner of the house. Moments later, pounding was coming from the back door. As I moved to the window that overlooked the back yard, mama locked the bedroom door with a skeleton key.

"Girls help me move the wardrobe in front of the door," mama said frantically.

Cynthia and I did as she asked. With that done, my sister and mother crawled onto the bed with their backs to the wall. Mama held my crying sister close. I dashed between the windows looking for our tormentor. He was nowhere to be seen. After about ten minutes, I slowed down and scrutinized the view from each window more closely. When I still couldn't find him, I joined them on the bed. My sister had stopped crying, but she was still visibly frightened.

"Is he gone?" Cynthia asked her voice trembling.

"I don't see him," I whispered, "Or his cigarette."

"I hope he left," she wished out loud.

"Me too," my mother and I said in unison.

We sat there holding each other for nearly an hour when the pounding began again. Cynthia whimpered, and we held her tighter. This time I didn't waste the energy of running between windows; I stayed with them. Our fear and anxiety were growing by the second.

"Stop it!" my sister screamed, "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

"Shhh it's okay honey," Mama cooed, "He can't get in here."

I wished I could believe what my mother claimed, but I knew too well what this man was capable of. Her intent was to calm my sister, but she only marginally succeeded. Cynthia was the only one of us that showed her true emotions. I felt like crying right along with her, but I stayed strong.

It went on this way until nearly dawn. We all dozed on and off between pounding sessions. By the time the sun made its appearance, we were all exhausted. We waited a full three hours after dawn before we pushed the wardrobe aside and went downstairs. We worked frantically to make the house as tidy as possible, but it was a losing battle. It wasn't long until we heard the sound we had been longing for-my father's car.

**OooOoo**

**Please review *begging*. **

**Good or bad - I would appreciate it immensely.**


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three - Secret War**

"Why is this door locked?" father asked loudly from the other side of the kitchen door as we pushed the icebox back into its proper place.

Cynthia threw the door open and cried, "Papa!"

"Umph," escaped him as my sister threw herself into his arms.

"You're home," she wept into his chest, "I was so scared papa. He wanted to kill us."

"Who wanted to kill you sweetheart?" my father asked alarmed.

"The man with the birthmark under his eye," she said emotionally.

"Where did you see this man?" my father inquired looking down into her face.

"I didn't see him," she replied truthfully, "Alice saw him kill mama in the woods."

"For crying out loud!" he bellowed, "Alice is this one of your damned stories?"

"No Sir," Cynthia whimpered, "He pounded on the door all night last night."

"Okay," he sighed, "Tell me everything."

We all sat at the kitchen table and told father everything that had transpired over the past few days. The only thing we down played was the amount of time we had been cooped up in the house. He listened patiently until we finished and then he offered a reasonable explanation for everything. Disbelief resonated in the room. Father didn't believe us, and we were all dumbstruck by his dismissive attitude.

"William if you search the woods, you will certainly find evidence of this man," Mama insisted, "He smokes much, and I doubt he cleans up after himself."

"If it will put your mind at ease," he offered, "Then I will do as you ask."

"And there should be footprints all around the house," I added.

"While I am out there," he negotiated, "Would you please clean this disgraceful kitchen?"

"Yes sir," we said in unison.

I followed him out the back door. He walked around the perimeter of the house, and I primed the pump. On my way back to help my mother, I searched the ground and found brush marks but no footprints. The marked man was good. He had covered his tracks. I hoped he had overlooked his snuffed cigarettes.

We worked like mad women. Cynthia and I worked on the dishes, and my mother scrubbed laundry. I saw my father making his way through the orchard and into the wood. He searched the ground carefully. I had hope that maybe he wanted to believe us. We worked for quite a long while before father emerged but he wasn't alone. His face was red with anger as he led a limping Buster out of the orchard. As the horse moved closer, I saw several cuts all over him.

"I didn't find any sign of your mystery man out in the wood," he raged, "But I found Buster. In all your foolishness you forgot to feed and water him, and he went through the barbed wire fence. He has a bad limp now, and I fear he may be lame."

"Well," my mother said quietly, "You were planning on replacing him with the Johnson's old motor buggy."

"I can't fetch a decent price for a lame horse!" he roared, "He will have to be sold to slaughter."

"No!" Cynthia cried out, "I can still ride him. He won't be able to pull the carriage but I can still ride him. Please papa don't kill Buster. I will take care of him. I promise."

The outburst seemed to take the wind out of his sails as he replied, "Alright sweetheart. We can sell the carriage, but we'll keep Buster. Would you go out and tend to his wounds. He has a few pretty bad ones."

"Sure papa," she said happily and bounded out the kitchen door.

"What were you two thinking?" he hissed through his teeth when Cynthia was out of ear shot, "You have scared Cynthia silly."

"I saw a man kill mama, and whose to say he wouldn't have gone after Cynthia next," I said in a rush, "We were just keeping her safe."

"Rubbish!" he exclaimed, "There is no man in the woods!"

"I saw him with my own eyes William," my mother defended, "I was frightened but I was not and am not delusional."

"Let's say you did see a man in the yard," my father reasoned, "He was likely just knocking to let us know that we had an injured horse in the woods. The three of you in a panic misinterpreted his intentions."

"Then why did he brush away his footprints if his intentions were pure?" I asked softly.

"That is quite enough of that!" he barked, "There will be no more of this foolishness. I will not stand for it."

"I'm sorry," I began with a new determination, "I failed Charlie, but I will not fail Mama."

"Then keep it to yourself," he ordered, "And do not scare your sister again or I will take her far away from here."

"No, please William," my mother begged.

The fear in my mother's eyes humbled me and I whispered, "Okay, you win."

"Good," he said smugly, "Get your pocketbook mouse. We need to go to the general store straight away."

To keep myself distracted, I cleaned and scrubbed the rest of the day. The house was quiet, and so were my visions. It was as if I took a vow of silence, I did not speak a word for days. Father seemed to enjoy my quietude, but my mother worried.

The morning my father left on a ten-day trip to Denver, I had a vision of the marked man. He was still watching the house from the wood. He waited until my mother was alone in the orchard and he attacked. After breakfast, I offered to work in the orchard for her that day. She was happy because she wanted to clean the base boards throughout the house. I however had another agenda-the ultimate sacrifice.

I worked for quite some time trying to gather my courage. I moved to the edge of the wood and waited. Trying to look busy was a real chore. I felt his eyes watching me, but it gave me strength. I marched into the wood to face death head on. At first, I sat quietly on a fallen tree. There was some rustling off to my right, but I didn't look up. When nothing happened, I got up and slowly paced. The sun moved higher overhead, and I realized he didn't want me. He wanted my mother.

I had shadowed mama for nearly two days when she asked, "I appreciate it, but why are you being so helpful?"

After a look around to make sure Cynthia wouldn't hear, I replied, "He's waiting until you're alone. He won't attack if I'm with you."

"I have the Peacemaker," she said confidently as she patted her apron pocket, "I will be okay, but I don't want you in harm's way."

"He wouldn't kill me," I blurted out.

"How could you possibly know that?" she asked then realization dawned across her face, "What did you do?"

"Nothing happened," I confessed, "I went out to the wood alone when I knew he was watching."

"Why?" she choked out, "Why would you do that?"

"I hoped he would be satisfied with me and leave you alone," I sighed.

"Never do anything like that again," she said as tears welled in her eyes, "I would be so lost without you. Elliot lives because you live."

"I'm so sorry mama," I cried and threw myself into her arms.

"He's still out there isn't he?" Cynthia inquired sadly, and we startled.

"No," I lied, "Mama and I were just…"

"I am eight years old," she interrupted as she crossed her arms defensively, "I am not a baby so don't patronize me."

"Oh," my mother said in amusement.

"I can handle it," she said with determination, "Father doesn't believe us so I know to keep it a secret. Are we going to make the house a fort again?"

"No, I had a vision," I said telling a little white lie, "He only wants mama so we just cannot leave her alone."

"Okay," she said brightly.

"But we will lock the house up tight each night," mama stated, "Just to be safe."

The next eight days passed without incident. We all slept in my parents' room, but there was no night watch. When my father returned home, he found the house in order and every chore done. He was in high spirits when he told us about the surprise he had for my mother and I Cynthia pestered him until Mr. Johnson pulled up to the house in his 1910 Sears Motor Buggy. His son Richard soon arrived riding their large draft horse.

Richard was ten, and Cynthia had a huge crush on him. She followed him around like a puppy as he hitched the horse to our old carriage. He didn't seem to mind because he kept trying to make her laugh. Father had traded our old carriage and some jewelry for the motor buggy. Mama threw in a bushel of her special pie apples for a driving lesson. She had drove father's Model T, but the motor buggy was a little different. Father's auto had a steering wheel where the buggy had a bar that one used to steer. After mama was familiar with the new vehicle, it was my turn. It was the first time I had ever driven anything but a horse drawn carriage or wagon. Father was overly protective of his Ford motor car.

Mr. Johnson said that I was a natural. It was exhilarating to have complete control because Buster sometimes had a mind of his own. I wondered how fast the motor buggy would go, but I kept myself in check during my lesson. The auto only sat two adults so it seemed like it would be faster than my father four- seat model. When we returned, Mr. Johnson continued to rave about how well I drove. My father insisted on seeing for himself.

"Come along sweetheart," my father beckoned Cynthia, "You can have a try."

She looked unsure for briefest moment before she answered, "I will stay here with mama. I don't want to crowd Alice when she's trying to impress you."

"Are you sure?" my father pressed, "There is enough room."

"I want to wait," she said and bit her bottom lip, "I want to practice with you before Alice sees me drive."

I flashed a huge smile at her as I pulled away from the house. My father was impressed by my newly acquired skill and gave me several compliments. He made small talk, but I could tell he wanted to ask me something. I decided to broach the subject.

"I have still been seeing the man in the woods," I confessed and then bent the truth, "but I have kept it to myself as you requested."

"Thank you for your discretion," he replied with relief, "I think going about our normal routine is best for everyone."

"Yes sir," I said as I pulled up to the house.

For nearly four weeks, we didn't let mama out of our sight then Mrs. Johnson invited her to her sewing circle. It met twice a week, and I had to remain home to sit for Cynthia-no children allowed. They made quilts for the needy in our community, but I felt it was more of a social club. I insisted she take the pistol as I was still getting flashes of the marked man.

In the next several weeks, my mother really came out of her shell. She became a social butterfly. The new friends she made in the sewing circle invited her over often. They seldom called on her at home because of me. She was genuinely happy, and I had to remind her to be careful. She would forget to take the pistol the majority of the times she went out, but my visions had all but stopped.

"The Quilters meeting will be at the Richardson's tonight," my mother informed me as I washed the supper dishes, "Their place is nearly on the other side of town."

"I can finish the dishes," I said reading her tone, "Have a nice time."

"Thank you sweetheart," she chimed and hugged me.

"Don't forget the peacemaker," I reminded her.

"It's already safely tucked in the bottom of my sewing kit," she assured.

"Okay," I said softly, "I love you mama."

"I love you too," she said and after a quick hug, she was off.

Cynthia came in to help me. As she was wiping down the table, she regaled me with what was new at school. I responded but asked no questions. Something at the back of my mind loomed. I was working on the big kettle when a vision filled my mind.

_The man with the strawberry birthmark was lighting a cigarette. He sat in a Model T similar to my fathers. Parked on the side of Howard Avenue with the motor running, he seemed to be waiting. The sun was resting on the horizon as my mother's buggy came into view. As soon as she passed, he pulled out cutting off another auto. He kept his distance until they were closer to the edge of town. He pulled out to pass as they were rounding a curve. Cutting in too soon, he forced my mother off the road and down into a steep ravine. Jagged rocks that littered the bottom brought the buggy to an abrupt halt. _

"Lock the doors!" I yelled at Cynthia and ran out the back door.

I ran down the path toward town and Howard Avenue. I decided in an instant to take a shortcut through the wood. My arms and legs pumped furiously as I dodged trees.

_The marked man again waited. This time he scrutinized my mother's buggy at the bottom of the steep incline. As he searched for movement, he drug on his cigarette. After several minutes, he climbed into his motor car and calmly drove away. _

I was amazed I hadn't ran into a tree, but my stride had slowed. Just after exiting the wood at full speed, I crossed a greenbelt and met up with Howard Avenue. The profound grief in my heart told me that I was too late, but I kept running. There was so much emotional pain that I hardly noticed the burning in my legs and lungs. It was fully dark as I slid down the embankment on my bottom. I stumbled my way to the twisted and damaged buggy. My mother was slumped over the steering bar. I climbed over the badly damaged door onto the deformed seat next to her.

"Mama?" I cried even though I knew she couldn't hear me, "Mama, wake up."

I pulled her back onto the seat, and her head lulled limply toward me. Her sightless eyes stared at me. I pushed sticky hair away from the face that I loved more than anything in the world. I begged her to come back to me over- and- over until my voice became hoarse. I curled up next to her and held her hand until all the warmth slipped away. I wept for what seemed like hours. My heart and soul weren't just broken, they shattered into a million pieces.

**oooOooo**

**This chapter was tough for me to write. I loved Alice's mom and didn't want to kill her.**

**Please...please...please review:)**


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four - Shattered**

I was aware of nothing until they tried to move my mother. I awoke with a vengeance. There were many men around me when I began to fight. Small as I am, it took a dozen arms to gain control of me. I screamed for them to leave her alone, but they did not listen. They decided to remove me from the scene. I was carried about a hundred feet further down the ravine behind the wreckage.

The faceless men placed me on a boulder where I hugged my knees. I closed my eyes as a wave of pain swept over me. Rocking back and forth did not seem to help, but I continued to move that way. Time lost all meaning.

"Alice?" a familiar voice asked seeping concern, "Mary Alice Brandon can you hear me?"

My eyes slowly focused, and recognition moved slower. I blinked furiously until a man's face became clear. Dr. Abbott smiled grimly at me. He was our family doctor. He had delivered Cynthia when she was born. Several years earlier, my worried parents had taken me to visit him after I had my first vision. He had given me a clean bill of health and chalked it up to an overactive imagination.

"Dr. Abbott?" I asked confused as I remembered my mother's ice-cold skin, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you. Were you hurt in the accident?" he inquired, assuming that I had been in the buggy.

"It was no accident," I said dryly.

**"**Pardon me?" he shot back in surprise.

"A man with a strawberry birthmark ran her off the road intentionally," I professed as my voice quavered, "He murdered her."

"Did you witness this?" he asked again with concern.

"Yes I saw it happen," I confirmed and then rambled, "And I ran to save her, but I was too late. I got here too late."

"So you weren't in the buggy when it went over the embankment?" he asked likely remembering my visit years ago.

"No," I replied sadly, "I was at home when I saw him kill her."

"You're that girl I heard about at church," a young man accused from behind me, "You cursed your own mother?"

I screamed like an angry animal and threw myself at him. He stumbled backward and nearly fell. Several hands grabbed a hold of me just before my fingernails found their mark. Sherriff Ben Roberts was among them, and he instructed me to calm myself. Instead of taking his direction, I blurted out everything I knew about my mother's murderer. He began asking me pointed questions for several minutes, but he could not sway me from the truth.

My eyes locked on movement near the wreckage. Four men were carrying a burlap bundle up the steep grade with the assistance of ropes. The sheriff droned on, but I heard not a word. _Burlap irritates mama's skin, and they have wrapped her in it. _This ran through my mind as my ears began to ring. Then I saw only darkness-blessed darkness.

"Alice sweetheart," father said worriedly and shook me, "Wake up."

I opened my eyes to find myself in my bed. A nightmare was my first thought until I looked into my sister's eyes. She stood silently next to her father, and her skin was red and blotchy from crying. I closed my eyes once more as a wave of grief hit me. I sat up gasping for air, and father rubbed my back like mama always does-did. Great sobs escaped me, and it hurt all the way down to my bones.

Cynthia climbed onto the bed, and wrapped her arms around me. I kept whispering 'I'm sorry' as she silently wept. We clung to each other for hours. Father stood silently until someone would knock at the door, but he would return minutes later to continue his quiet vigil.

When the sun was making its decent toward the horizon, he insisted we try to eat something. Dishes of food covered all the surfaces in the kitchen, and father said that the icebox was also full. Mama's apron hung on the hook behind the door, and Cynthia stood staring at it. I took it down and put it over her head. Tears streamed from her eyes as I tied it. She was still wearing it later that night when the sheriff paid a visit.

I was eavesdropping when Sheriff Roberts informed my father that my mother's death had been declared an accident. They could find no evidence of another car being involved. I rushed into the parlor and tried to argue, but my father ordered me to be silent. He threatened to have me committed, and I relented. I could not leave Cynthia alone with no one to look after her. The issue was dropped.

The skies were dark and grey on the day of mama's funeral. It reflected how we all were feeling. The mourners were few, but their pain ran deep. They did not avoid me as people usually did. I was embraced and offered sympathy as much as the rest of my family. My aunt even put her anger aside for the day. At the internment, the desire to crawl into the wooden box next to my mother was nearly overwhelming. Then I looked at my little sister, and found the strength to resist.

The following afternoon my father went to visit my mother's lawyer and returned home in a rage. He demanded to know why she had done it, and I told him that I did not know. The attorney had informed him that the trust could not be transferred for one year. He fumed because he had planned to replace my mother's vehicle. I assured him that I could walk or ride Buster if I needed to go anywhere. This only added to his frustration.

Days and weeks crawled by as we tried to adjust to life without her. I tried to step into her vacant shoes, but it so painful. Cynthia was my first priority. I devoted myself to caring for her. When she was at school, I tended my mother's beloved orchard. I tried to keep myself as busy as possible. At least once a day, I would give in despair. My father spent even more time away. However, when he was at home, he seemed happy. I envied his ability to move forward.

Four months later, he proved his resilience. He returned home with his new bride Polly Burnham Brandon. We had no idea she existed until ten days before the wedding. Father sat Cynthia and I down one evening and gave us his good news.

"My beautiful girls," he began warmly, "The past months have been very hard on all of us. My dear Alice, you have been doing a wonderful job with the house and with Cynthia. You will be nineteen in just over a month, and you should be making a life for yourself. I feel badly that you are anchored here."

"You and Cynthia are all I have left," I sighed, "I love you both, and I don't feel anchored at all."

"I know you don't feel burdened," he said softly, "But your mother would want you to live and right now you are doing everything but."

"She just misses mama," Cynthia defended, "I still miss her too."

"Well," my father brightened, "I have some news that will cheer you up. I have met someone. Like you, I was nursing a broken heart and did not intend for it to happen, but she is so vital and lovely. She has brought sunshine back into my life. I want you to meet her because I believe she will do the same for you."

"Oh papa," Cynthia chimed, "I am so happy for you. What's her name?"

"Polly Burnham," he said smiling as I had my first vision in months.

_Unhappily, I sat alone in the front row of an unfamiliar church. Less than a dozen people occupied the left side of the center isle, but the right side was packed with the bride's family. Cynthia looked beautiful in her pale pink gown; she held a small bouquet of roses. Standing immediately to the left of the bride, I assumed her the maid of honor. Then there was the bride._

_The extravagant white gown fit her perfectly. The bulk of her long blonde hair was pinned up smartly with wispy ringlets framing her young face. She looked to be in her twenties. She shot a hateful glare at me as she turned to hand my sister her huge bouquet. In the next instant, the lovely smile had returned to her pretty face. Her grayish blue eyes sparkled as she smiled lovingly at my sister and then at my father._

"Do you think she'll like me or have you told her about me?" Cynthia asked unsurely.

"I have told her all about you," he replied happily, "And she loves you already."

"Really?" she asked, her voice going up an octave.

"Yes," he replied, "She is so excited to meet you."

"When will I meet her? Where did you meet her? What's she like?" my sister began firing random questions at him, "Are you going to marry her?"

"Whoa," he interrupted in an amused tone, "One question at a time."

"How old is she?" I inquired piously.

He looked right into my eyes and answered, "Polly is twenty eight, but very mature for her age. She lost her husband in the first wave of the Spanish Influenza, not even a year ago."

"That's so sad," Cynthia exhaled.

"Yes it is," he replied and turned back to my sister, "Samuel Burnham is one of my best clients, and he invited me to have dinner at his home one evening. I met Polly there, and we found we had much in common. We were both recently widowed and found comfort in each other's company. You will be meeting Polly for yourselves the day after tomorrow."

"Is she coming here?" Cynthia asked.

"No sweetheart," he explained, "We will be taking the train to see her early tomorrow morning."

"The train," she said excitedly, "I've never been on a train."

"That's not the best part;" my father beamed, "On Saturday afternoon, Polly and I will be wed. You are going to have a mother by the end of the week."

"_Step-_mother," I spat, "Basile's Cinderella had a stepmother too."

"Please give her a chance," he asked softly.

"I don't need a new mother," I said coldly, "Especially, one that is closer to my age than yours. I have a mother, and she was senselessly murdered."

"Polly could never take your mother's place," he reasoned, "But maybe you could become friends or confidants even."

"Does she have children?" Cynthia asked changing the subject, "Will I have a new brother or sister?"

"She does not," he answered, "But maybe in a year or two-God willing."

"A baby?" Cynthia squealed in delight.

"Well don't get your hopes up quite yet," father warned, "It took years for you to come along."

"Okay papa," she agreed.

"Now you two go up and pack," he kindly instructed, "We will be away for at least a week."

Cynthia darted out of room without a word, but I sat there unable to move. Thoughts of mama played through my mind. I wondered what she would think about all of this. The pain from her death was still too raw, and everything was moving much too fast.

"I'd wager," he began- interrupting my thoughts, "That you think I am moving too fast."

"Yes," I replied, "You are exactly right."

"I thought so," he said quietly, "She is so right for me. I feel as if I have known her forever."

"I just don't understand how you can forget mama so soon," I sighed as tears welled in my eyes.

"I will never forget my little mouse," he said using the nickname I despised, "But your mother was devoted to making those she loved happy. Polly makes me happier than I ever thought I could be."

I sat silently as my mind tried to accept his argument. My heart however would have none of it. Polly's angry glare came to my mind, and I considered not attending the nuptials. I was considering excuses when another vision filled my mind. The wedding scene was nearly the same except Aunt Agatha and Uncle Charles sat in the front row. In addition, much of the bride's side had migrated to the groom's so it seemed more even.

"I know you would like me to attend your wedding," I began unsurely, "But I would like to stay and get the house ready for Polly's homecoming. Besides, someone has to feed Buster."

"Uncle Charles will care for the horse while we are away," he offered, "I really want to have both of my girls there."

"Aunt Agatha and Uncle Charles will attend if I am not there," I countered.

"How did you," he began and then stopped.

"It will be a beautiful ceremony," I said softly, "And everyone seems happier without my presence."

"Your sister and I certainly will not be happier," he sighed and then remembered, "And Polly wants to ask you to be her maid of honor."

Polly's glare made sense to me as I continued, "It's still too soon for me. I am not ready for that, and Cynthia will be so thrilled to fill in for me."

"I suppose she would like that," he resigned, "Well, you have until six am tomorrow to change your mind."

"Okay," I said and stood, "I will help Cynthia pack so she doesn't forget anything. I'll pack some things for me as well in case I wake tomorrow with a new outlook."

"Good night Alice," he said warmly.

"Good night father," I responded and ascended the stairs to help my sister.

It was a good thing that I helped Cynthia because she packed like an eight year old. When I got her squared away, I turned in. I did not pack any of my things because I had made up my mind to stay home. That night I did not sleep well as my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. I finally gave up on getting any rest and made my way to the kitchen.

I made a huge breakfast for them, and they were pleasantly surprised. We spent a good hour together before it was time for them to leave for the station. Father offered the use of his Model T, and I respectfully declined. I knew he would worry about the safety of his motor car while he was away. I assured him that I could ride Buster if needed. We bid our goodbyes in the yard, and I watched them pullout onto the street.

The house was quiet, and I busied myself cleaning up the breakfast dishes and cleaning the kitchen. I then tended to the orchard. After a light lunch, I gave Buster a good brushing before I fed and watered him. While returning the brushes to the shed, I noticed a familiar box in the corner. It was my mothers sewing kit, and it was covered with dust. I cleaned it off the best I could and carried to the kitchen table.

I stared at it for a long time before I actually opened it. I wondered who had returned it and when. My mother's voice echoed in my head '_safely tucked in the bottom of my sewing kit'. _Tears filled my eyes at the sound of her voice, and my hands shook as I tried to open the box. It had been damaged in the crash so I had to pry it open with a butter knife.

My mother's things were still neatly organized, and I ran my fingers across the tools she used nearly everyday. I unpacked the kit, and at the bottom was the peacemaker. The pistol was wrapped in a needlepoint sample that I sat aside. The steel was cool and heavy in my hand as I carried the weapon to my parent's bedroom. I returned it to the wooden box in the crawlspace.

Everything was back in the box when I finally looked at the cloth the pistol had been wrapped in. I froze; hundreds of tiny stitches spelled my name. 'Alice' was framed by an intricate pattern of vines and roses. I held it to my chest as I carried the sewing kit to my closet. I flopped onto my bed and cried myself to sleep without eating supper.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five - Homecoming**

I woke before dawn the next morning. My stomach snarled with hunger as I made my way to the kitchen. I took the sample with me, and I laid it out on the table next to my plate. It made me feel closer to her somehow. After I finished breakfast, I neatly folded it and put it in my pocket.

Over the next few days, I went through my mother's belongings. Much of it I packed in trunks that were in the attic, but her favorite things found their way into my closet with her sewing kit. Once the master bedroom was free from any sign of mama, I put our prettiest bedding on the big bed. There were only a handful of photographs of my mother on display, and I placed them all neatly on my bureau. Extending an olive branch, I made a place for Polly in my mother's home.

I spent an entire afternoon altering mama's best dress to fit me. I was not the seamstress my mother was, but I was competent enough. It turned out better than expected, and I planned to wear it the day Polly arrived. Making a good first impression was important-wasn't it?

The morning of their arrival, I woke early. After my regular chores were finished, I filled vases with wildflowers and placed them around the house. I took great care braiding my hair so that I looked my best. A small bottle of my mother's perfume sat on my vanity so I dabbed on a tiny bit. My father had given it to her for Christmas, and she wore it on special occasions.

Polly's favorite meal was a mystery to me so I prepared my father's. Using our best china and silver service, I set the table in the dining room. Polly would likely not notice, but I hoped father would appreciate my efforts. I baked a cake for desert. I had just finished frosting it with butter cream when I heard the Model T pull up to the house.

I quickly removed my apron and hung it on the hook. Just as my sister reached the front door, I swung it open. She hugged me tightly, as father and Polly made their way up the steps. I smiled brightly and stepped back to let them enter.

"Polly Burnham Brandon," he began formerly, "I'd like you to meet my daughter Mary Alice Brandon."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," I chimed and held out my hand.

"We are family now so that just won't do," Polly said sweetly and enveloped me in an embrace.

"That's mama's dress," I heard Cynthia whisper.

"And her perfume," Polly said under her breath.

"Pardon?" I asked wondering if I heard her correctly.

"Isn't that mama's dress?" Cynthia asked and blushed.

"Yes, I wanted to look nice," I replied absently then looked at Polly, "Did you say something?"

"Me?" she said smiling, "I didn't say anything."

My smile faltered slightly as I wondered why she lied. My mind raced with questions, but I held my pleasant expression. After a quick tour of the house, the travelers went upstairs to freshen up. Thankful to be alone, I put the finishing touches on dinner. I was able to remind myself of my mission; Getting along with my new stepmother was what I needed to do. The thoughts and questions were pushed to the back of my mind.

The meal was pleasant, and many topics were discussed. They all seemed to involve the wedding in one way or another, and I could not help feeling like an outsider. My father pulled me aside later and thanked me for all the work I had done. His approval was nice to have for a change.

I cleaned up after dinner alone, but I did not mind. Cynthia helped Polly unpack, and there was a lot of work to be done. She had several huge steamer trunks plus a dozen small carpetbags. I was curious what she could possibly have in all those bags, but I had not invited to help. I thought about offering my assistance but decided against it.

The first evening's trend continued into the next week. I cooked and cleaned alone. Polly washed her own laundry, but I got the feeling it was because she did not trust me with her things. Every time Cynthia would try to help me, our new stepmother would call her away for one thing or another. She doted on my sister, but she rarely spoke to me. Father seemed to be oblivious to the fact that I had become the housekeeper.

The next time my father went on a sales trip, Polly accompanied him. They were taking a few days for a honeymoon. Cynthia wanted to go with them, but father declared that she had already missed too many days of school. I was hurt that she did not want to stay home with me, but it did not last long.

The next days were wonderful. There were tears when we remembered mama, but there was laughter too. We attempted to teach Buster a trick like we had seen at a Wild West show, but he would have none of it. Then Cynthia wanted to play dress-up, and her idea could get us into a lot of trouble.

"See, her wedding dress is just hanging there," Cynthia said slyly as she held the closet door open, "She won't wear it ever again. It will be big on you, but I bet you would look beautiful."

"Well, if we are really careful," I relented wanting to make her happy.

I memorized exactly how it was it was hanging so we could return it exactly how we'd found it. It was inside a cloth cover with a fashion house insignia embroidered on it. Once the dress was removed, I noticed a piece of paper pinned to the inside. I set the cover aside and ever so carefully slipped into the gown. My sister was correct, it looked amazing on me. The white lace was a stark contrast to my black hair.

When I was returning the gown to its bag, I took a closer look at the paper inside. It was a tailor's log. It listed every alteration made and when the dress had been ordered. I looked at the date, and the air went out of my lungs. The day I had my first vision of the marked man was the day the work on the gown began. The first fitting was four days before my mother was killed. I stared at the log in disbelief.

It was hard to focus on getting the dress back in the bag perfectly. If there was evidence of tampering, I was somewhat confident it would be too subtle to notice. After the gown was in its place, I excused myself to the restroom. I felt nauseous.

"Alice?" Cynthia asked worriedly from outside the door, "Are you ill?"

"I'll be okay," I reassured, "My stomach is upset."

"Are you afraid she'll find out you tried on her dress?" she asked, "If she asks, I'll tell her I did it. Mama Polly wouldn't be angry with me."

My stomach twisted and I asked, "Did you just call her mama?"

"Mama Polly," she said softly, "It was her idea and I didn't want to disappoint her."

I realized then that Cynthia needed a mother now, and she loved Polly. I needed to bide my time. The perfume could be explained as my father may have mentioned it. The gown on the other hand was pretty damning, but it was all I had. I would stay alert, and gather more information. I left the log where it was because if I took it, Polly may notice and come looking for it.

Keeping my worries hidden for the next day and a half was tough. I did not think Polly would harm my sister. But if she had done what I was beginning to suspect she had, then there was no telling what she was capable of. Cynthia's safety was my top priority.

Polly and my father were glowing with happiness when they returned. Bile in the back of my throat threatened to give away my new attitude toward my stepmother. Thankfully, I was able to gather enough self-control to avert disaster. A faux smile was always on my face for the following weeks. I would massage my cheek muscles every time I was alone. I became adept at finishing my chores quickly, so I could eavesdrop on Polly as much as possible. Finally one day it paid off.

"I want to ride Buster," Cynthia chirped as I listened from around the corner, "Do you want to ride? He's sort of slow, but it's still fun."

"I don't ride," Polly said, "but I will watch you ride."

"You don't like horses?" my sister asked in awe.

"Not particularly," she responded, "I like automobiles, and I'd have shiny new one by now if the trust were in the right hands."

"Trust?" my sister inquired as my blood ran cold.

"Oh nothing sweetheart," she dismissed, "Let's see you ride."

I stood there frozen as I mulled over the new information. Polly had motive to have my mother killed. My grandfather's estate would look good to a widow. Was she even a widow? She may have just used the story to get close to my father. I considered the evidence, and decided to wait a little longer. Maybe I would get lucky and find something more tangible. I only had to wait a few days.

My father was at home, and we were having supper. Polly seemed to be happier than usual; she had even been civil to me. She acted as if she had a secret and was dying to tell someone.

"William darling," she gushed, "I can't take this another minute. Where is that item I asked you to pick up for me?"

"Dear heart," he cautioned playfully, "That _item _is supposed to be a Christmas gift. The holiday is only a few weeks away."

"I can't wait," she pouted.

"You are spoiling her," he said amused, "It's my sample bag."

Polly shot out of her chair like a bullet out of a gun. I was amazed she could move so fast in the high-heeled boots she always wore-not to mention her corset. Cynthia looked at me with a confused expression, and I shrugged. When she returned, her hands were behind her back.

"Close your eyes Cynthia," she chimed, "I have a surprise for you."

"What is it?" she asked excitedly as she complied.

"You'll see," she sang and placed an elegantly carved wooden box in front of her.

Her name had been sculpted into the lid. Polly hurried to stand next to my father. She bent and whispered something into his ear.

"Okay," Polly said expectantly, "You may open your eyes."

Cynthia's eyes popped open before she finished her sentence and exclaimed, "My very own secrets box! It's so pretty as pretty as yours, Mama Polly!"

"What's a secrets box?" I asked curiously.

"It's a Burnham family tradition," Polly explained proudly, "It's like a hope chest, but it keeps one's diary safe and secure."

"Mama Polly still writes in her diary everyday. She got her secrets box when she was my age. It not only helps your memory and writing skills, but it builds character." my sister recited.

"You remembered," Polly said pleased and held up a pair of little brass keys, "That's not all."

She snatched the keys and opened the box. There was a dark leather journal inside. Polly called it moleskin and claimed that famous writers owned them. Apparently, they were handmade in Europe. I was thinking about Polly's journal and what could be contained therein. If she wrote in it everyday, her role in my mother's death would certainly be in there. I had to get a look in that box.

Uncle Charles was having a birthday party in two days, and I wasn't invited. My time would be limited, and they would be only five miles away. I hoped luck would be with me, and I would find a written confession. If my instincts were right, that is. Later that night I heard another slip of the tongue that reinforced my belief that I was on the right track.

"What is this?" my father demanded.

His tone of voice made me stop outside their door. I had been on my way to bed after cleaning up the kitchen. It thrilled me a little to hear the anger he had toward perfect Polly.

"It looks like one of our wedding invitations," she said lightly, "Oh that one was to my cousin in California. I must have written the address incorrectly because it was returned this morning."

"That's not what I'm asking about," my father said frustrated now, "It is post marked the day of my dead wife's funeral."

I could not help but gasp, and they went silent on the other side of the door. I thought they might have heard me so I prepared to run. Luck was with me.

"They must have used the wrong stamp at the post office," Polly explained, "That is all I can figure. We had not even met and the invitations had not been ordered yet. My mother has the invoice if you would like me to send for it."

"No..no," my father replied but not sounding convinced, "There is no need. It must have been a postal error."

I silently made my way to my room. Polly's carelessness had planted a seed of doubt in my father's mind. If I could find her written confession, it would not be hard to convince my father of her crimes. With the thought of having an ally, I slept well that night.

The next two days were the longest in recent memory. When the day of my Uncle's birthday finally arrived, I was on edge. I jumped at every noise louder than a whisper. Concentration was nearly impossible, and I kept finding myself getting distracted. My chores were not finished when the three of them were preparing to leave.

"Are you okay sister," Cynthia asked as she slipped into her jacket.

"Just not feeling myself today," I sighed, "But other than that I'm fine."

"I wish you could go to the party," she offered.

"I would probably stay home anyway," I said sadly.

"Your father is waiting in the car," Polly warned.

"Okay," she sang, "Bye Alice. I hope you feel better."

"Bye," I said softly as she exited through the kitchen door.

I stood there like a statue until the sound of the Model T disappeared. I dropped the broom I was holding and darted upstairs. My first stop was in Cynthia's room where I quickly found the key to her secrets box. I hoped it would open Polly's if I could not find her key. Turns out the key would not be the problem. I found it in her large jewelry box, but the elusive box was nowhere to be found. I even searched the crawlspace and found only the revolver.

My eyes darted around the room trying to find anywhere I had missed. Finding none, I searched the room again. After the second search, I wondered why she had hidden the box and not the key. In frustration, I went downstairs and put the broom away. I decided to finish my neglected chores in the morning.

I had just extinguished my gaslight when I heard the partygoers return. Their laughter made my loneliness multiply and I longed to be a part of a family again. The wound from my mother's loss painfully opened once more. I began to weep for all I had lost. I wept for Mama, and I wept for Charlie.

I awoke before sunrise with a slight headache, but could not find sleep again. I got out of bed and prepared for the day. The sky was beginning to brighten just as I finished my previous day's chores. Father was up soon after and requested that I sit and share a cup of tea with him.

"I'm worried about you," he began gently; "You haven't been yourself. Is anything bothering you?"

It took only a moment to decide and I replied, "Yes actually, I overheard your conversation about the postmark on the invitation the other night."

"Obviously a mistake by the mail handler," he said without missing a beat.

"I don't think it was an error," I said softly, "After what I've heard and seen, I think Polly was involved in Mama's murder."

"Please explain," he said calmly and leaned forward.

He listened as I told him everything that I had learned thus far. At first, he seemed receptive, but he soon became angry. The turning point had been when I told him about my search for the diary.

"You are not going to read her personal journal. That is ludicrous," he said dismissively.

"Then you read it," I offered, "I know the truth is written in there, and then we can take it to the authorities. They will find the demon that took my Mama from me and punish him."

"No," he said firmly, "Stop this right now. Polly is my wife, and I will not have you making up stories about her because she is not your mother. If you want to continue to live here, you will drop this matter."

"This is my house," I hissed through my teeth, "My mother gave it to me."

"Fine," he relented, "I will read the journal. But when I find nothing of consequence, then will you drop this?"

"That's all I ask," I said and took my tea cup to the sink, "I'll be in the orchard if anyone needs me."

He did not respond as I went out the back door. I sat at the base of my mother's favorite tree for most of the morning. My mind moved through all the events that had brought me to this precarious place. Finally, I decided to distract myself with chores. I am not sure how long I had been working outside when I heard my father's car leave.

He returned just as I was setting supper on the table, and soon as we were finished, he was off again. Polly did not seem alarmed or curious about his behavior, but I had a bad feeling. She suggested that she and Cynthia turn in early because they had been out late the previous night. My sister admitted to being tired and made her way upstairs. Polly smiled smugly at me as she followed.

That smug smile got under my skin, and I left the dirty dishes on the table and the pots on the stove. I was finished with being the housekeeper. I was the owner of this house after all. I went up to my room and watched the sun disappear below the horizon. I was wondering where father could be, and I had a vision.

_My mother's murderer stood on the shore near the Biloxi Lighthouse. It was fully dark, and the rotating beacon would pass over him every few seconds. It was an eerie night as there were no stars or moon visible in the sky. He lit a cigarette as a figure approached. William James Brandon walked up to the killer of my mother and shook his hand. He thanked the monster for meeting him on such short notice. The only father I have ever known went on to tell him that he had another job for him. He handed him an envelope with instructions and payment. The marked man ran his fingers over the money and thanked him. He abruptly turned and walked away down the shore. _

Everything became so clear. William Brandon had paid the marked man to kill my beloved mother. It was he all along. He wanted to have his mistress and my mother's money to spend on her. I realized, they had heard me in the hallway the other night. Their subsequent conversation had been designed to distract me from the truth. He was angry about the postmark, but it was due to her carelessness. Our conversation this morning had been a fact finding mission, they needed to find out exactly how much I knew. My ears began to ring but instead of passing out I had yet another vision.

_I awaken to a nightmare. The man with the strawberry birthmark stands over me with a wicked looking knife. The smell of stale cigarettes fills my nostrils, and fear fills my heart as he swiftly brings the weapon down._

I gasped. He was going to kill me in my own bedroom. The thought of my little sister finding me that way, brought bile up from my stomach. I was dizzy and confused, but I let instinct take over. My instinct told me to run.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six - Betrayal**

I burst out into the cold night without a coat or shoes. My nightgown flew out behind me as I ran to the only house that was safe. The marked man may hurt anyone else, but he would not harm my Uncle Charles. William's brother would be safe, and he was my beloved Charlie's father. My cousin had to get his kindness from someone, and it certainly was not from Aunt Agatha.

Time slowed to nearly a standstill, and I felt like I was running in a nightmare. I did not slow my stride as I reached the house. I flew up the steps and let the front door stop my momentum. I pounded on the door for what seemed forever before they finally answered.

"Alice?" Uncle Charles asked holding a fireplace poker in his hand, "What's the matter? Is everyone okay?"

"No," I gasped out breathlessly and told him everything.

"Oh Alice," he said with concern when I had finished, "I don't know what to say."

"I do," Aunt Agatha said as she stepped out from behind her husband, "You killed my son, and you need to leave."

"I don't have anywhere to go," I said hopelessly.

"Go join the circus…you freak!" she screeched and shoved my off the porch.

I landed hard on the cobblestone walk. The impact knocked the wind out of me, and I saw flashes of light all around me. Darkness loomed in my peripheral vision, but I fought it with all I had. I concentrated on Uncle Charles' voice.

"Why did you do that Aggie?" he asked in disbelief, "I think you really hurt her."

"Good!" she said and laughed, "She deserves every bit of this. Go let the dogs out. They'll run her off or chew her to pieces."

"I won't do that," he refused.

"Fine," she raged, "I'll do it myself."

I found the strength to sit up. Uncle Charles rushed down the steps to help me to my feet. I tested my muscles and they seemed to be in order. I was on the run once more. I ran all the way home, but it took much longer than before. My back was killing me so I decided to get some help. I grabbed Buster's bridle, and put it on him. I did not bother with his saddle, as it would take too much time. Riding him bareback, I headed toward the home of Sherriff Ben Roberts.

To my relief, the gaslights blazed brightly inside. I would not have to wake the marshal. When Buster was securely tied to the hitching post, I hurried to knock on the front door. The door opened and a pair of hands grabbed me, and I looked up in surprise. My former father held on to my arms too tightly. Uncle Charles, Aunt Agatha and Polly stood huddled together in the corner. The trio wore sad expressions, but only one face was sincere.

"Let go of me!" I cried and tried to get away from his evil touch.

"Alice sweetheart," he soothed, "Try and calm yourself."

"Get your hands off of me," I screeched, "They have my mother's blood all over them."

"You see blood on your father's hands?" Sherriff Ben Roberts asked.

It took only a moment for me to realize the implications of his question. I stopped fighting and looked at each of their faces. I didn't need a vision to know what was going to happen this night, but I had to try.

"Of course I don't see blood on his hands," I answered calmly and jerked my head toward William, "He paid the man to kill her so I meant figuratively."

"I understood most of what you just said," he said and then became serious, "Your family has come here tonight because they love you and are terribly worried."

"Rubbish," I hissed through my teeth as I struggled to maintain control, "This man and his new wife conspired to have my mother killed for her inheritance from my grandfather. But what they didn't know was that my mother had left the money to me, and now they are trying to have me killed."

"And how did they attempt to kill you? He asked with a smug smile.

"I witnessed him," I said and again jerked my head toward the man holding my arms, "giving an envelope of money to the man that killed my mother."

"Where did you witness this transaction?" he asked still smiling.

"On the shore near the lighthouse," I replied truthfully and my arms were suddenly free.

"Was it this envelope?" William asked and pulled the envelope from his pocket.

I stared at it in disbelief, and the sheriff said, "I will take that as a yes."

"She must have seen me with it earlier," he explained, "I will be making a sizeable pearl purchase early tomorrow. But in her paranoid state, she believed it to be something it isn't."

"Liar!" I screamed and jumped on him with my claws out.

Everyone else was on the other side of the room so I was able to do some real damage before they pulled me off. I saw that I was getting nowhere so when I saw an opportunity to inflict some damage, I took it. I drew blood for myself and for my mama. Uncle Charles begged me to stop, but I ignored him. Polly moved closer to lend a hand, and I lunged for her. The three men had control of me by then, but the look on her face was well worth the effort.

Shackles were locked onto my wrists and ankles. There was a chain that connected them so it was more comfortable to sit. I was warned that if I didn't behave myself, the marshal would haul me down to his office and lock me in a cell. Every time Polly glanced at me, I gave her a big grin. I know it was childish, but I could not help it. Maybe I had gone mad as they claimed. While I sat there, they spoke about me as if I weren't.

Their plan was to quietly send me away to an asylum, and tell everyone outside this room that I had died in some sort of accident. A funeral would be held, and a gravestone would be placed. There would be so much effort and expense to save themselves the embarrassment of having a daughter that went insane. And of course, they could collect my grandfather's estate easily enough. The biggest expense would be to pay the Sherriff for his silence.

"When will the doctor arrive?" Polly asked shakily.

"Well they are coming down from Lucedale in George County so another hour give or take."

"I need to get home to Cynthia," she responded, "and I need to get some sleep."

"Mrs. Campbell is there if she wakes up," my father stated.

"I know, but I'm tired." she whined, "And frankly, I don't want to be around her anymore."

I grinned at Polly as Uncle Charles spoke, "I can run her home William."

"Thank you brother," he responded, "I would like to wait for the doctor."

"I understand," Charles said and then turned to his wife, "Are you ready to go home?"

"No," Aunt Agatha stated, "I would also like to stay. I have some things I want to tell the doctor."

"Okay," he sighed obviously fatigued, "I'll come back for you. Are you ready Polly?"

"I'll be out in a minute," Polly said sweetly and stopped in front of me, "Goodbye Alice. I will take care of Cynthia and raise her as if she is my own. She'll be calling me mama in no time at all."

In the briefest moment, I slipped my hands out of the shackles obviously made for an adult male. When she turned to leave, I stood and grabbed two handfuls of blonde hair. She screamed as I pulled her down to the floor. I slammed her head into the hardwood floor. After a few good shots, someone hit me from behind. Everything went dark.

My head was stinging when I awoke. A huge face was right in front of mine. A mountain of a man was holding me down in a chair. I was afraid to move because this giant could break me in half without much effort.

"Don't move," A voice warned from behind me, "I only have one more stitch… There…All done."

"Would you be so kind as to back away," I asked not so sweetly, "Your breath smells like you ate a road apple."

"Barthel doesn't understand English," the doctor said as he stepped from behind me, "Good thing too, because my German friend here has quite a temper."

"Good to know," I said and the doctor said something to him.

"Now… Miss Brandon are we going to have any trouble with you?" he asked as he looked into my eyes.

"Not if you let me go," I shot back.

"That is not the answer I was hoping for," he said amused, "But that is why I have my large friend here with me."

I looked into Barthel's determined eyes and said, "I will behave myself."

"Lovely," he chirped and smiled, "I am Dr. George Kippes and I will be overseeing your care at The Willows. How long you stay with us will be up to you."

I nodded obediently, but I knew what he had just said was a lie. I would never leave his asylum alive. I would go along for now and wait for an opportunity to escape. Dr. Kippes was tall but very thin. He looked to be in his mid-forties with only a few strands of gray in his light brown hair. He wore a trimmed beard like Sigmund Frued.

"Well," he began, "If that's all Sherriff, we will be going."

I had not noticed Ben Roberts sitting in the corner. He stood and shook hands with the doctor. I scanned the room but all the others had already left. I smiled when I remembered attacking my stepmother. The doctor raised an eyebrow but did not say a word.

Once we were in the doctor's motorcar, he asked me about the smile. I told him the truth. In fact, I told him everything. He asked questions every once in a while, but the first hour I talked nonstop. I had planned to stay silent, but there was something about the doctor that compelled me to spill my guts. Somehow, I felt lighter when I was done.

Then it was the doctor's turn to speak. He began by telling me that with therapy, he believed I could live a productive life. I rolled my eyes because I knew better. Then he told me all about his institution. There was much pride in his voice when he explained that he considered it a hospital rather than an asylum. He rattled off daily schedules and rules, and that is when I lost focus. My eyelids felt as if they weighed a ton.

"The Willows," Dr. Kippes announced proudly and I startled awake.

I looked out the window, and my heart sank. The good doctor was the delusional one. The large building was dark gray marble with a high vine covered fence around its perimeter. It looked dismal and downright creepy. He stopped at an unoccupied shack just outside the gates and honked. A few moments later, a hooded figure appeared and opened the gates from the inside.

"That's our groundskeeper Mr. Jones," he said cryptically, "He doesn't speak to anyone, and he wears that hooded robe like some kind of monk. I'd say he has a flair for the dramatic wouldn't you say."

"Why do you have a guardhouse?" I asked changing the subject.

"It's manned during the day," he explained.

I searched for the hooded man's face but it was hidden in the fabric. We pulled through the gates and came to a stop next to a side door. A large woman soon emerged.

"This is Helen," he announced, "She is Barthel's wife and our head nurse. She speaks both English and German fluently. She is strict but fair, and has no sense of humor to speak of."

"I heard that doctor," Helen said gruffly, "This would be Miss Brandon?"

"No," the doctor joked, "We decided to pick up a hitchhiker instead."

Helen stood straight-faced waiting and the doctor said, "See what I mean. Okay you may get her squared away. I'll see you in the morning Miss Brandon."

I nodded as he went through the side door. Helen led while her husband grasped my arm tightly. My feet barely touched the ground as we made our way to a room around the back. She rolled a large door back to reveal a huge shower room.

"Time to delouse you tiny one," Helen said in an amused tone, "Your not much bigger than a louse are you?"

"Dr. Kippes is wrong," I said in a small voice, "You do have a sense of humor. It's a sadistic sense of humor."

She stared at me for a moment with no expression on her face, and then she burst into hearty laughter. When she ordered me to undress, she was still chuckling. Barthel stood against the wall as I was washed from head to toe with a harsh soap. And when it was over, my skin was red and irritated. I longed for an oatmeal bath and my favorite nightgown. Instead, I was given a gray shapeless garment to wear. It was once white, but the fabric had grayed.

My prison cell was as dismal as the outside. There was a small bed against the wall with a steamer trunk at the foot. The only other furniture in the room was an old wooden chair with a chamber pot underneath. All the walls were solid and empty except for the south wall featured a small barred window. It looked over a small cobblestone courtyard.

As I looked out into the darkness, Helen said, "You are lucky to have a window. Not many of our residents do especially the violent ones. Bart told me what you did to your mum and your pop. I expected some fight from you."

"They are not my parents," I said and turned, "Besides, you didn't kill my mother, and those two miserable excuses for human beings did."

"Hmm," she answered then someone began mewling somewhere down the hall, "Duty calls."

Without another word, she left the room and locked the door behind her. A shiver ran down my spine because I felt watched. I scanned the tiny room and turned back to the window. The night stared back at me. After I found no sign of anyone I crawled into the small bed. The pillow smelled horrible so I pushed it off the bed. Before I turned off the light, I found an extra blanket in the trunk and rolled it up to make a pillow. I soon fell asleep from exhaustion. It had been a long day.

"It's time to get up Miss Alice," a harsh voice said loudly then I opened my eyes, "There you are. You have only twenty minutes left for breakfast so you must hurry."

"Okay," I sighed and slipped out of bed.

Out of habit, I quickly made my bed and kicked the vile pillow under it. The nurse gave me a pair of house slippers that were much to large. She told me her name was Judith as she showed me the way to the dining room. Because I was lucid, I would be expected to find my own way to my meals each day.

Right after an inedible breakfast, I had my first actual therapy session with Dr. Kippes. It went well enough. I read enough about Sigmund Freud to know what he wanted to hear. Unlike his idol, the good doctor believed in electro-shock therapy. I was scheduled to receive my first treatment at the end of the week. It weighed on my mind for the rest of the day.

Most of that first afternoon, I spent outside in the courtyard. I tended a small apple tree that grew in the corner. It was chilly out, but the sunroom was crowded. Inside there always seemed to be someone screaming or crying, and every now and then the lights would dim. Which reminded me of my date with electricity.

Supper was really quite good or maybe I was just hungry. I sat alone because the other patients frightened me. They were all female as I was in the women's ward. But they all either had a wild look in their eyes, or there was emptiness there. I was afraid that my eyes would soon mirror theirs.

Before Helen locked me in for the night she left an armful of clean gowns and a laundry bag. I thanked her, but she didn't reciprocate. I refolded the garments and opened the trunk. My hairbrush was sitting on the extra blanket I had used as a pillow the previous night. At first I was afraid to touch it thinking it was a delusion. But when I finally did, it was solid and cool in my hand.

Still holding the brush, I looked where the extra blanket had been left. I found my pillow from my bed at home. I was confused because I knew William and Polly would never send my things to me, but here they were. I picked up my pillow and hugged it to my chest, and then I discovered the best thing imaginable. The needle point sample with my name emblazoned on it lay unfolded where the pillow had been. I snatched it up as tears welled in my eyes. I brought it up to my face, and it smelled like home.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven - Griffen**

There was no mirror in my room so I used the reflection in the window glass. I brushed out my long raven hair twice. Like the previous evening, I felt watched. But unlike the night before, I wasn't frightened. Somehow, I knew the eyes that gazed upon me belonged to my benefactor.

"Thank You," I whispered into the night.

I slept well that night. If there was any mewling or screaming, it did not wake me. The sky was just beginning to lighten when I crawled out of bed. I changed into clean clothes and took my brush to the window once again. I could not believe my eyes, 'You're Welcome' was written in the dew. My hand shook as I touched the glass and found the words were on the outside of the window. My room was on the second floor.

The second day of my stay at The Willows was filled with visions. The first was when I was trying to eat breakfast. A bowl of what the kitchen was passing off as oatmeal sat in front of me.

_My coffin sat on wooden planks waiting to be lowered into the ground. The few mourners in attendance were moving away except Cynthia. Polly pleaded with her as William thanked people for coming. Suddenly my little sister was trying to open the wooden box. She wanted to see for herself that my body lies within. Her belief in my visions was so strong that she just knew there had to be a mistake._

The vision was bittersweet. My sister knew that I was not in that coffin, but she was going about it, as I would have. I hated to see her get into trouble or even put her life in danger. I had to get a message to her somehow. The next vision of the day came to me soon after I began my daily session with Dr. Kippes. I was thankful that he loved the sound of his own voice and had just begun a long speech.

_A black robed figure entered my room and crossed to my bed. He moved so fast that he blurred for a moment. He knelt, and slid his hand under my pillow. He stayed still slowly inhaling and exhaling for several minutes. As he took great care to smooth my blanket, his hands moved through a ray of morning sun. They glittered like a crystal. There was a blur of movement around the steamer trunk, and then the room was empty._

The lecture continued, but I could not focus on what he was saying. He did not ask any questions-good thing. It was tough to stay still because I wanted to run up to my room and catch the intruder in the act. I wondered why I could not see the groundskeeper clearly, and I knew it was Mr. Jones from his black robe. Luck was not with me, as Dr. Kippes wanted to discuss how I felt about shock therapy.

The sun was higher in the sky when I made it back to my room. I had missed him, but not by much. There was no sign that he had been in my room not that I could see anyway. A sweet floral scent lingered as I knelt by my bed. Under my pillow, I found a small colorful feather tied around a small scroll with a pale lavender ribbon. I wondered what kind of bird would have such plumage as my shaking hands untied the scroll.

_I wish to call on you at ten this evening-G._

The handwriting was eloquent, and the parchment looked old. I read and reread the words before I looked in the trunk. My heart nearly burst when I found three of my nightgowns neatly folded. The one on top was my favorite. I hugged it to my chest and spun around in a circle. Something fell to the floor. A paperboard folder held a photograph of my mother wearing her wedding dress. A melancholy smile was on her familiar face. I could not wait to thank Mr. Jones for his kindness.

The day crawled at a snail's pace. The day was warmer than the previous day so I spent most of it in the courtyard. A few of the other patients milled around and sat on benches. I took a nap after lunch so I would not be tired when my visitor arrived. Just moments after I woke, I had a vision of Cynthia telling Polly about the missing items from my room. The list was far longer than what I had received so far. She was angry that they had not allowed her to look in my coffin. Now she was sure that the man with the strawberry birthmark had stole me away.

I had barely recovered from that vision when I had another. Polly expressed her concern to her husband. When she was assured that I was still locked up, she worried someone may be intending to blackmail them or that my mother was haunting them for what they had done to us. William became very angry at her superstitious ramblings. He mumbled under his breath that he should have kept me around because at least I was a competent housekeeper.

There was trouble in paradise. This made me smile, and my good mood lasted until supper. That was when I had a vision of Nurse Judith finding my brush, photograph, embroidery sample and my grandfather's pocket watch. She insisted that I had to have Helen's permission for any personal belongings, and that she must report the infraction. She didn't seem to notice my pillow and nightgowns.

It was shower night for all the women in my hall. I wanted to stay in my room, but I was there only long enough to get a clean hospital gown. Helen and Barthel led seven of us down to the shower room. When he tried to follow us in, a tall thin woman began to scream and mewl. I recognized her voice from my first night at the Willows. She calmed down as soon as the mountain of a man stepped into the hall.

One by one, Helen combed out head of hair. She took some kind of pleasure in the rough way she groomed each patient. A content smile was on her face as she pulled and tugged. The others winced and cried out, but I wouldn't give her the satisfaction. I set a serene expression upon my face and let her do her worst. She finally handed me the comb and instructed me to finish.

When I was finally back in my room, I looked around for somewhere to hide my things. The sparse furnishings didn't offer any options. In my vision Judith had been searching for evidence of rodent infestation, and she had been quite thorough. I finally folded my things into the extra blanket hoping she wouldn't notice.

Helen came by to lock my door for the night, and my light was off. I feigned sleep and she noisily jingled her keys. Obviously, she was trying to wake me. She cleared her throat loudly, but I continued to breathe deeply and evenly until she gave up. If not for my nap, I probably would have fallen asleep.

When I knew it was safe, I changed into my favorite nightgown. After I brushed my hair, I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Moonlight streamed in through the window and cast long shadows on the floor. I didn't know the exact time, but I knew it was close. There was a flash of light like lightning only I was looking out the window when it happened. I waited a few seconds, and there was no clap of thunder. Over come by a sudden eerie feeling, I clicked on the light.

"Greetings little bird," the groundskeeper said his voice like musical chimes, "I am Griffen Jones Esquire and I am pleased to finally meet you."

I was speechless. He was as beautiful as he smelled. His hair was long and silver. It was neatly tied with a leather throng at the base of his neck. He looked to be in his fifties, but his skin was perfectly smooth. His face was pale but had a kind of luminescence in the dim light. I thought the light was playing tricks, as his eyes appeared to be a deep red.

"And I am Alice freak of nature," I said softly as I curtsied, "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

An amused smile lit up his face and he inquired, "Why do you say this?"

"You will know soon enough," I replied cryptically, "I want to thank you for returning my things to me. You have no idea what having these meager objects has meant to me. I am eternally in your debt."

"It was my pleasure," he said sincerely, "I have another gift for you."

"My grandfather's pocket watch," I blurted out before I could help myself.

He became completely still for several moments. His eyes did not blink, and his lungs neither took nor released air. I thought he had had a heart attack and had just not fallen when he finally spoke.

"You have taken the pleasure of your surprise from me," he whispered and removed the watch from his sleeve, "I do have a pocket watch from your jewelry box. How did you come by this knowledge? You are a gifted one?"

"Cursed is more appropriate," I began and did not stop until I had told him everything.

Not long into my tale of woe, he became frozen. He did not thaw for several minutes after I became silent. I found his statue like stillness intriguing. Instead of fear, I felt a kind of kinship with the unearthly man. He was obviously different from anyone I had ever met.

"I knew when I laid my eyes upon you that you were unique," he finally said, "I have never been rendered speechless as I am an opinionated old cuss, but you my lovely little bird have made me a mute."

"You are the loudest mute I have ever heard," I chimed with a huge smile on my face, "Why do you call me bird? I have no feathers-no beak."

"Well," he explained, "When I spied you from the courtyard, you looked like a beautiful little bird in a cage. Your scent is quite heavenly."

"No," I said sweetly, "That heavenly scent is yours. "

"I know of a place that Goody Judith would never find your things," he offered changing the subject.

"In this room?" I asked intrigued.

"Yes," he explained, "The trunks were donated by a sea liner company and they have hidden compartments."

"Would you be so kind as to show me?" I nearly begged and he nodded.

After my things were safely tucked away I inquired, "I have shared with you everything about my peculiar life. Won't you take me into your confidence?"

"The secrets I keep will endanger your very life, and I have too many lost souls on my conscience as it is." he replied sadly.

"I am already technically dead," I reminded him, "Please won't you tell me your story."

"You remind me so much of my daughter," he said with a melancholy tone in his voice, "And I could deny her nothing."

"You are so kind," I chirped sweetly.

"You will take those words back," he sighed, "Once you have heard my tale. I will need to start at the beginning, and please understand that my human memories are foggy."

"Human memories?" I asked in a little voice.

"In due time my dear girl. Please let me tell it straight through or I will lose my nerve," he began, "I was born in 1527 England-York to be exact. I know my childhood was a happy one, but I do not remember much more than that. I married my wife Joyce in my early twenties, and I did not think I could love anyone more than I loved her. Then in 1564, my son John was born and the following year my daughter Abigail came into the world. The seventeen years that my children grew were the happiest of my life to this very day. All that ended in 1581 when Joyce and Abigail contracted Gaol Fever now known as Typhoid Fever. My wife passed on first, but my little Abigail fought it. We thought she was getting better then suddenly she was gone too. I was a broken man, but I held my self together for my son. It was just John and I for a few years then he met and married Jane. I sailed off to the new world with them because they were the only family I had left. During the two and a half month voyage, Jane lost a child."

He continued, "We arrived in Roanoke Virginia on July 22, 1587. Captain White expected to find Sir Richard Grenville's men, but all we found were abandoned dwellings. There was much fear among the Colonists, and we took measures to ensure the safety of the new colony. We built a fine village, and it was not long before the Dare child was born. Virginia was the first child born in the new world. Her grandfather left for England with a promise to bring supplies. Through hard work and perseverance, we began to prosper. Then just over a year later, my fellow colonists began to disappear. It began with one man every couple of weeks, but then the Dare toddler vanished. Ananias and Elyoner Dare were frantic to find their precious daughter. I joined the search party because I knew what it was like to lose your little girl. In the following week and a half, four men and one woman were found mutilated. But despite the danger, we continued to search for Virginia."

He paused for only a moment before resuming his tale, "Late one afternoon on my way home from searching, I came upon the Dare child. She was curled in a ball near the side of the path. A strange noise was coming from her tiny mouth so I approached intending to lend her aid. She looked up and hissed at me, which froze me in my tracks. Her eyes were blood red, and she smiled at me with a full mouth of perfectly straight teeth. With inhuman speed and prowess, she pounced on me like a cat. As she bit my shoulder, I heard a woman scream. Goody Harvie's cry brought a few others running, and the little monster dropped from me to give chase. I was able to make it home despite the terrible burning pain. I was able to gasp out what had happened before I gave in to the blazing torture. The fiery pain burned through me for days as my son and daughter in law watched over me. When I awoke…"

Emotion overwhelmed him for several minutes as I waited patiently for him to speak, "When I awoke, a burning thirst was all that was left of the transformation. I satiated that thirst on my dear family's blood. I killed John and his wife Jane before I could stop myself. After I gave them a proper burial, I fled into the wilderness. Guilt overwhelmed my new existence, and I attempted to end my life. My flesh had turned to stone and no matter what I did; I could not end my suffering. Then one evening the robed ones found me. They called themselves the Volturi, and they had tracked me from the Roanoke Colony. They called Virginia Dare an immortal child, and determined that I was to be put to death. I was finally going to obtain peace. But when the smallest of them saw my serene smile, she stopped my execution. Little Jane seemed pleased when I begged for death, but she granted me her sadistic mercy instead. I would be allowed to live as a monster forever. I have spent the past three hundred and twenty two years ending human misery. Only those who are near death or in great pain have been my victims. For centuries I stalked battlefields for injured soldiers, but I grew tired of war. Now I spend a handful of years at institutions like the Willows before I move on to another. So do you still think me kind?"

"I think like me, you can't help what you are," I said sadly, "But I am grateful that you are here now. I don't know what I would have done without your kindness."

"You are a survivor," he said confidently, "And you would have been fine."

"I am not so sure," I said and yawned.

"It is late and you are tired," he said disappointed, "May I call on you tomorrow evening? I promise not to stay as late."

"Yes you may," I said happily, "Thank you for your honesty and I hope talking about your past pain helped somehow."

"It has," he said lightly, "Is there anything I can bring for you?"

"Surprise me," I said and grinned.

"I will do just that," Griffen said with determination.

"What type of bird is the feather from?" I asked curiously.

"A Painted Bunting," he replied, "Lovely little creatures."

"I would love to see one someday," I said wistfully and yawned again.

"Well," he said quietly, "It is time for me to take my leave-until tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow," I agreed, "Good night Griffen."

"Sweet dreams my fair Alice," he said and was gone.

I turned off the light and fell asleep thinking about new friend. I did have sweet dreams that night. I dreamt of my wedding day, and Griffen was my father giving me away. As he walked me up the isle toward my beloved Charlie, my mother cried tears of happiness. All was right with the world.

**oooOooo**

**I did a lot of research on The Lost Colony of Roanoke. I wanted the vampire that made Alice to be special and have a tie to a mystery in history. I hope you like it. Please review.**


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight – Blissful Ignorance**

Skipping breakfast gave me another hour of sleep, but I arrived a few minutes late to Dr. Kippes' office. After I mumbled excuses, we began the session. He was elated with my progress, but he was still pushing for electroshock. I wondered if he had ever tried it on himself. If he had, he may have second thoughts about using it at his hospital. My first session was scheduled for the next afternoon, and I was getting more anxious by the minute.

The rest of the day flew by in a blur. I barely ate anything, as my stomach was nervous. I napped for a few hours before supper and before I knew, it was ten. Griffen arrived the same time as the previous evening. I was happy to see him, but many things weighed on my mind. As he greeted me, my stomach rumbled. He looked at me questioningly, and I explained. He excused himself, but was back moments later with a small loaf of bread and a quart of milk. I humored him at first, but the bread was very good.

"Now," he said softly, "Isn't that better?"

"Yes," I said and then grimaced, "I am still to be electrocuted tomorrow."

"No," he said mischievously and smiled, "The Electroshock machine will not be operational tomorrow."

"Thank you," I gushed with relief, "You are the best."

"Well don't get your hopes up too soon," he warned, "They will eventually repair the machine or move the reserve machine in."

"Oh," I sighed and then had an idea, "Can you get me out of here? We could run away."

"If it were anything else," he said defeated, "You see little bird, you are safer in here. I can control the thirst in this stink hole, but outside I fear I may lose that control. Your scent is so appealing that I feel physical pain when I am near you."

"I'm sorry," I said hopelessly, "You could bite me and then I would not be appealing anymore."

"You would consent to become a monster?" he asked in disbelief.

"I would," I said simply.

"It is not as simple as a bite," he explained, "There would still be the issue of my self control. Maybe I can build strength the more I am around you."

"Okay," I said in disappointment, "I am not sure how long I can wait before I actually go insane in this place."

"You have reserves of strength little bird," he reassured, "Just give me some time."

"Okay," I resigned.

"Thank you," he chimed.

Griffen avoided the subject for the rest of the evening. We spoke of books and new inventions. I told him about when I drove my mother's motor buggy. He was delighted when I told him about my dream from the previous night. Dreams were something he missed, as he had no need for rest. True to his word, he left me several hours earlier than the night before.

There was a flurry of activity the next day. Dr. Kippes cancelled our daily session because he was lending a hand with the electroshock machine. The reserve machine was missing from the basement, and they were outraged. All the staff had been questioned by lunchtime except of course the groundskeeper.

It would have been a pleasant day if not for the strange flashes I kept getting. I did not receive an actual vision all day-only nonsensical snippets. One in particular stood out, it was a flash of Griffen's concerned face. I had a flash of Helen slapping me across the face, and then one of me greeting her with a huge smile. They were all so confusing; I could not make heads or tails of any of it.

By the time Griffen came to visit, I was a bundle of nerves. In total frustration, I explained all I had seen over the course of the day. He had no insight into what it could mean. His attempt to cheer me up with a surprise was thwarted as one of my flashes was of him giving me my mother's perfume. I thanked him, but the small bottle caused me to be melancholy. I missed my mother so much.

I told him everything that I remembered about my mother. I cried but there was much laughter too. Griffen was so patient with me; not once did he become bored or indifferent. Then I told him of my little sister, and why I wanted to get out of the Willows so badly. I do not know if he was just humoring me, but we made plans to take Cynthia with us when we ran away. I harbored a little hope by the time Griffen left.

The next morning I awoke refreshed and recharged. I had wonderful dreams of Charlie and our children. I had a spring in my step when I went down to breakfast. I was half way through with my meal when I noticed Helen and Barthel in the corner of the dining room. They had worked nights since I came to the Willows so I found it strange that they were still here. A vision filled my mind.

_Barthel jabbers in German to Helen and Dr. Kippes as he undoes the leather restraints from my arms and legs. Helen shakes my limp body, and Dr. Kippes assures them that I have only lost consciousness. Barthel becomes more animated as his wife shakes me violently. The good doctor tells her to stop and suggests smelling salts. She pouts as she waves a small glass vile under my nose. My eyes flutter and the mountain of a man sighs with relief. Dr. Kippes calls my name, and I open my eyes. I look at each of their faces with a content smile on my lips. After a few moments, I ask him if Alice is my name._

My blood was cold as ice, but it seemed to burn in my veins. The electricity was going to cause memory loss and possibly brain damage. Be it temporary or permanent, I could not let them strap me in that bed. Memories of Charlie and my mother were just too precious to lose. I had neglected to ask Griffen where he spent his daylight hours so I did not know if I could get any help from him. I had to get outside where I could call for him.

"Good morning," Dr. Kippes startled me from behind, "Helen burned the midnight oil, and the electroshock therapy machine is functional again. So instead of our normal session you will have your first shock treatment."

"You can't," I begged, "Please it's going to cause amnesia and brain damage."

"Don't be absurd," he scoffed, "That happens so rarely that you need not worry."

"But I have seen it," I whispered, "It will happen to me."

"You were making such wonderful progress," he said sadly, "I am more convinced than ever that electroshock is the best course of action."

"Could I get some fresh air?" I asked sweetly.

"I'm afraid not," he replied and shook his head, "The machine was down for an entire day so I have twice the residents needing their therapy today."

I made a break for it. Dr. Kippes was so surprised by my sudden departure that he did not try to stop me. After fleeing the dining room at a full sprint, I made it down the hall. I had my hand on the door to the courtyard when a hand grabbed from behind. Helen was faster than she looked; she yanked me away from the door by my hair. Her husband was there just moments later, and he grabbed a hold of my arms.

"Griffen!" I yelled, "Help me Griffen please!"

"Hush," Helen directed, "Just take your medicine."

"Griffen!" I screamed again, and she slapped me across the face.

I was seeing stars when Helen said, "That's better."

Some of the wind had gone out of my sails, but I still fought as they carried to the therapy room. I struggled until they had me tightly in the restraints. They ignored me when I begged them to stop. Barthel asked a question in German, and the doctor replied in kind. His huge face wore a worried expression, but he helped his wife shove a piece of leather into my mouth. Dr. Kippes instructed Helen where to set the wattage dial, but she turned it up much higher when he turned to speak to me. I tried to tell him, but the mouthpiece caused my speech to be unintelligible. Tears of frustration streamed out of my eyes, and Barthel dried them with his sleeve.

"Schritt weg," Dr. Kippes said and they moved away from me, "Okay Alice…I am going to administer two shocks. The first will be for three seconds and the second will be for ten. Here we go then."

He flipped the toggle switch, and my muscles painfully tightened. My back arched off the table, and I found I could not breathe. Electricity throbbed in my bones for what seemed like an eternity. With a thud, my body fell to the table. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard my torturer instruct Helen to turn the wattage up two clicks. I screamed a muffled 'no' as the doctor flipped the switch again. The pain had doubled in intensity, but it did not last long because the blessed darkness enveloped me.

**oooOooo**

The beautiful angel smiles at me, and I think my heart will burst. I ask him if I am dead, and he shakes his head bemused. His golden eyes sparkle with love for me. There is no need to ask his name because I know it is Jasper. I feel so calm and content. My peace is not broken even when a strong acidic odor fills my nostrils. I blink my eyes furiously to clear them because my love is fading away.

"Alice?" an unfamiliar voice calls and I open my eyes.

I smile at the three strangers and ask, "Is Alice _my_ name?"

"You know it is," the woman snapped.

"Helen," the distinguished gentleman warned, "Sometimes you must be delicate to get the truth."

"Helen is a nice name," I gushed, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She scoffed at my extended hand as the man asked, "Alice, do you know where you are?"

I looked around the room and answered, "A hospital?"

"Of a sort," he responded and then inquired, "Do you know my name?"

"No sir," I said after I searched my mind to no avail.

"I am Dr. Frued," he said smiling.

"Pleased to meet you," I said and extended my hand.

He shook my hand slowly as he scrutinized my face, and finally said, "I don't think she's faking."

"Dr. Kippes?" Helen asked alarmed.

"I thought you said your name was Dr. Frued?" I asked confused, "Frued at least sounded vaguely familiar to me."

"I'm sorry for the misdirection," he explained, "I just had to be sure that you weren't being untruthful."

"Oh okay," I said brightly.

"This is ridiculous," Helen mumbled under her breath.

"Hello my name is Alice," I chimed and extended my hand out to the stranger in the room.

The giant of a man looked at my hand and then at Helen. She spoke to him animatedly in a foreign language. He looked at me in horror, but I continued to smile with my hand out to him. Slowly and gently he took my hand and shook it.

"Barthel," he whispered.

"Pleased to meet you Barthel," I said smiling.

For the following hour, I answered the doctor's questions to the best of my ability. He informed me that my mother had passed away in a auto accident several months earlier. I waited for sadness, but none found me. Before I left him, he apologized for not believing me. When I asked him what he meant, he dismissed me.

A nice nurse named Judith showed me my room, and then asked me if I wanted to help decorate the Christmas tree. I happily accepted. I had so much fun that I missed lunch. She shared her sweet bread and apple butter with me. We were soon laughing and talking. Helen shot us a disapproving look as she gathered her belongings to leave.

After she left, the strangest thing happened; I had a vision of Helen insisting that Dr. Kippes transfer Judith to the men's ward. It was odd how eerie and familiar the phenomenon felt. Somehow I knew that I was seeing the future.

"I'm sorry," I conveyed sadly.

"For Helen?" Judith said lightly, "Don't worry about it."

"She is going to ask Dr. Kippes to transfer you to the men's ward," I warned, "Because of me."

"How could you know that?" she asked wide eyed.

"I had a vision of her doing it," I sighed, "I think that's why I'm here because I can see the future."

"Well," she began, "I heard that it was because you attacked your father and your new stepmother."

"I don't think I could do something like that," I said without much conviction, "But I can't remember anything before this morning."

"The electroshock therapy affects people differently," she surmised, "Well I need to get to my rounds. Thank you for your help with the tree and the decorations. It looks almost cheerful."

"You're welcome," I chimed, "I had a fine time."

"I did too," she said and walked down the hall.

I wandered out to the courtyard while I searched my mind for memories. Without realizing what I was doing, I began picking dead leaves from the apple tree. The task seemed as natural as breathing. I was pondering what it could mean when another vision came to me.

_A visitor in a hooded robe slips into my room after darkness falls. He is so handsome, and he reminds me of the angel that I had dreamed of this morning. He produces a small-carved stone from a leather pouch that had been tied to his belt. The tiny bird carving is exquisite, and I turn it over and over in my hand. _

He is an older man, and the only thing in this place that even seems vaguely familiar. I wonder why he would visit in the darkness of night, but I know that he is my friend and not my foe. I am intrigued by him and cannot wait for his visit. The afternoon drags on.

To pass the time I try to interact with the other patients. I find only one that it even somewhat receptive. A middle-aged woman named Bonnie that believes she is a dog. When I try to speak with her she only whines and barks at me. After I pat the top of her head, and she warms up considerably. A nurse stops our game of fetch then reprimands me for advocating her behavior. I apologize to both of them and scratch Bonnie behind the ear when the nurse's back is turned.

Supper was quite good, and I had Bonnie for company. She still did not speak, but she listened intently when I spoke. However when I mentioned Helen, she did growl. That made me giggle, and my new friend only panted happily. She was deep into her canine delusion because I would have had to laugh. I considered asking her some pointed questions but decided against it. If that was how she dealt with her life in this place, who was I to pry.

When it was finally time to retire for the evening, I could barely contain my excitement. Helen came to lock my door and greeted her warmly with a huge smile on my face. She scowled at me for several moments.

"I know you are pretending," she accused.

"I wish I were dear Helen," I sighed, "I wish I were."

"I'll be watching you," she declared and locked the door.

"Have a wonderful evening," I shouted through the door.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine – Life at The Willows**

While I waited for my mysterious guest, I looked through my room. I came across a stash of items hidden in the trunk. I knew they belonged to me because one of the belongings had my name on it. I dabbed a little of the perfume on my wrist and inhaled deeply. It smelled familiar, but it was not accompanied by any memories. I brushed out my hair as I stared at the photo of a bride. She had to be my mother, but I only felt feelings of frustration the more I gazed upon her. I carefully tucked my things away except for a colorful feather.

I was staring out into the night when the robed figure slipped into my room. Absently I brushed the feather across my cheek as a glorious scent filled the room. I turned to find him standing just inside the door.

"Greetings," I chimed and stared in awe at him.

"Good Evening little bird," he responded musically.

"What are you?" I could not help but ask.

He looked at me worriedly for several moments before he asked a question of his own, "You had electroshock today is that right?"

"Yes," I responded brightly, "They say I have amnesia. Except Helen believes I am faking."

"She would," he hissed through his perfect teeth.

"You are beautiful," I thought out loud, "What are you?"

"A monster," he replied shortly.

"I'm sorry," I said in a small voice, "I did not intend to offend you sir."

"You did not offend me," he sighed, "What I am offends me dear one."

"A monster would never give me such a wonderful gift," I offered.

"I do have a gift for you," he began in an amused tone, "Can you still tell me what it is?"

"Of course," I said thankful for the lighter mood, "There is a tiny bird carving in that pouch right there."

"Well done little bird," he praised and retrieved the stone quicker than my eyes could follow, "I carved this for you this afternoon."

"You made this?" I asked in awe as my fingertips brushed his palm, "Your hand is as cold as ice."

"Yes," he sighed and dropped his chin to his chest, "Part of being a monster."

"And your flesh," I gasped as I tried to apply pressure, "Is as hard as stone. You are a living statue."

"Gargoyle," he hissed.

"What?" I asked at the unfamiliar word.

"Nothing little bird," he dismissed and then changed the subject, "Your gift."

"Thank you," I said sweetly, "It's beautiful."

The next couple of hours we spent trying to jog my memory. He told me my sad story, but there were no sparks of recognition. It was as if he were reading a work of fiction. I could make no personal connection. Just before he left me, I asked him about Jasper. He had no knowledge of anyone by that name. It saddened me that he had only been a dream.

Life at The Willows moved along at a steady pace. Griffen visited me often, which became my favorite time of day. Judith was not transferred to the men's ward, but she hardly spoke to me at all. During the day, I spent a lot of time with Bonnie. They had doubled her electroshock treatments for a while, but it did not affect her behavior in the slightest.

Griffen showered me with Christmas gifts, and a local church gave each patient a quilt. Dr. Kippes gave me a sketchbook and pencils that he had intended for therapy, but I sketched dresses and accessories. The only Christmas I could remember was a happy one. Except for the shock treatments, my existence was tolerable. That is until mid-January.

Two weeks before my birthday, I was eating breakfast and noticed Helen with couple of officially dressed men. After mealtime, all the patients were rounded up, and all our heads were shaved. A Typhoid carrier had been traced to the Willows by the Department of Health. After Mary Mallon had caused an outbreak at Sloane Hospital in New York a few years previous, they were taking every possible precaution.

The majority of the residents did not seem to notice, but I shed tears for the loss of my raven locks. Helen seemed to relish my sadness as a contented smile settled on her face. Even Bonnie had a few moments of humanness as she gingerly rubbed the stubble on her head. I told her I was sorry and hugged her. She returned my embrace for a moment before returning to her canine whining.

That evening Griffen did not visit me, and I was grateful. I did not want him to see me that way. I know it was silly, but I kept crying. It made it easier to tolerate the shapeless garments they made us wear when I had my long hair as a focal point. I now had only dark sandpaper on my crown. Before I turned in, I removed a section of my quilt and fashioned a headscarf. I knew that they would certainly frown upon what I had done, but I hoped I could wear it until my hair grew out.

The next morning Judith gave me a strange look, but did not say a word. I made it through breakfast without a single comment. Dr. Kippes was the first speak about my head covering. He asked where I obtained the material, and I told him the truth. When he began to argue, I reminded him that the quilt was a Christmas gift. This spawned a discussion about self-esteem, and how it was connected your appearance. Our therapy session ran long because he became very interested in my point of view.

After lunch, Dr. Kippes made a point to seek me out. He led me to a small room off the laundry where the mending was done. There were a couple of manual sewing machines and other sewing supplies. Bolts of fabric crowded one corner. I looked around in confusion.

"I thought it would be good for you to have a distraction," Dr. Kippes said warmly, "There is fabric if you want to make one of your designs or there are two trunks of donated clothing underneath ready for alteration."

"Really?" I asked excitedly.

"Of course," he replied, "Remember this is a privilege that you are receiving here, and Mrs. Story our laundress will be keeping watch over you."

"Did you call for me doctor?" a red-faced chubby woman asked from the doorway.

"Mrs. Story," he began, "This is Alice. The young lady I spoke to you about."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," I said and offered my hand.

"You can call me Nellie," she said and took my hand, "I'm not going to have any trouble with you am I?"

"No mam," I said smiling.

"That sounds fine," she said, "Well, I better get back to work."

"Thank you Mrs. Story," Dr. Kippes said sincerely, "You are a gem."

"You're welcome," she said as she disappeared.

"Do you have any questions?" he inquired.

"May I wear what I make?" I asked hopefully.

"If it is appropriate," he replied, "Of course you may."

"Appropriate?"

"One of the drawings you showed me is a wedding gown," he said amused, "I think wedding attire would be inappropriate."

"I can see point," I said laughingly.

"I can see you have a lot of organizing to do," he said and turned to leave.

"Can I make something for another resident?"

"Which resident?" he asked curiously.

I told him that I wanted to make something for Bonnie. He was surprised when I described her reaction the previous morning. He granted his permission, and he was hopeful that the gesture might reach her. I thanked him, and he left.

For nearly an hour, I dusted and organized. With everything having a place, it opened up more space to work. Then I dove into the trunks, and found quite a few dresses that had a lot of potential. Buried at the bottom, I found a hatbox. It had several hats that were too fancy for this place, but two of them were simple cloche hats. I froze when a vision filled my mind.

_Prohibition would be ratified on January 16, 1920. Speakeasies filled with fashionable people. The beautiful women chattered in their cloche hats and flapper dresses. Their bob and finger wave hairstyles bounced as they danced vigorously to the upbeat music. The laughter filled small smoky rooms everywhere._

A huge smile spread across my face as I put one of the hats on. I quickly put things away, and thanked Nellie as I made my way to the dining room. I was a little early so I set to drawing the flapper dresses while the vision was still fresh in my mind. The hairstyles were short, and I could not wait until my hair grew out so I could have those lovely finger waves.

When Griffen made his appearance that evening, I was still engrossed in my drawings. I told him all about my vision, and showed him the future of fashion. He smiled at me with an amused smile as I rambled animatedly about how Dr. Kippes had given me a job. My scalp was beginning to itch so I removed my hat.

"Little bird," he exclaimed, "You have lost your plumage."

"Oh this," I said and scratched my bald scalp, "There was a Typhoid scare. They shaved it yesterday, and I cried. But now I know that short hairstyles are coming into fashion."

"Not that short," he teased.

"It will grow," I said and smiled, "My hair grows fast. Until then I will be a bald eagle."

"You are one of a kind little bird," he laughed musically.

Griffen explained prohibition and its ramifications. He excused himself when he found out that I did not think I'd ever tasted alcohol before. Several minutes passed before he returned with a cruet of bourbon. I was unsure, but he thought I should at least taste it before it was against the law. I took a tiny sip of the amber liquid, and it was strong and bitter. He laughed at the face I made.

"How can anyone like this?" I gasped.

"It's an acquired taste," he mused.

"This may be more to your liking," he said and produced a bottle with A&W on the side, "It's a new brand of root beer."

The root beer was sweet and effectively washed away the bourbon's bitter aftertaste. I thanked him for the sweet treat. We visited for about another half hour before he left me.

The next day was filled with hushed conversations and debates about prohibition. It was the 16th of January. I did not need a vision to tell me that it would be a popular topic for quite some time. I spent most of my session with Dr. Kippes thanking him, and promising him that I would not let him down. Even though I wanted to, I did not tell him about my vision. Griffen had warned me against it, and I trusted my friend implicitly.

I made my way to the mending room almost immediately after my therapy session. There were several bolts of fabric that had not been there the previous day. The material was of fine quality and looked expensive. I smiled to myself because I knew where it had originated-Griffen. I found ribbon and lace trim as well. I dove right in. And after skipping lunch, I made a lot of headway. I was so focused on what I was doing that I did not notice when Nellie checked on me. She let me know that I was missing supper. I thanked her as I quickly cleaned up after myself.

Supper was nearly uneventful. I was talking to Bonnie when I had a vision of Griffen's visit. He was trying to surprise me with an early birthday gift. The pair of Mary Janes fit perfectly. They were a perfect match to the footwear in several of my drawings. Bonnie looked at me strangely when I covered my mouth to hold in a squeal of delight.

It seemed like days had passed by the time Griffen slipped into my room. He had barely spoken his greeting when I began thanking him for the beautiful shoes. He was delighted by my excitement. I snatched the shoes from his hands and they were on my feet in a flash. He laughed as I paraded around my tiny room. He laughed again when I told him I intended to sleep with them on.

Griffen did not tell me he was taking the shoes with him until just before he left me. My gift would likely be confiscated unless I received permission. He had a plan for that. After he left, he would hide the shoes in bottom of one of the mending room trunks. The following morning at my session, I would tell Dr. Kippes that I had found them among the dresses. I hoped that he would allow me to wear them. When he mentioned the mending room, I remembered to thank him for the pretty material.

I had a tough time falling asleep. However, when I did succumb to the sandman I dreamed of Jasper. Losing myself in his golden eyes was so easy. When his amazing face started slipping away, I fought to stay asleep. I was sad until I remembered my new shoes and my nearly finished dress. The thought of my new outfit motivated me to get out of bed.

Luck was with me. When my session began, the good doctor asked me how I progressing. He was delighted at how far I had gotten, and that I was so motivated. I mentioned the shoes like it were an afterthought, and it worked like a charm. He said that he did not see any harm with me wearing the shoes. It took all my self-control not to jump up and down. We had a good session that day.

By the time my birthday arrived, I had finished five dresses. Four of them were mine, and one was for Bonnie. She loved her dress and her hat. I made her a cloth cloche out of the same material. When she was wearing her dress, she no longer crawled on all fours. She did however still whine and bark sometimes. Nevertheless, Dr. Kippes considered it progress.

My 19th birthday was an amazing day. Judith brought me sweet bread and apple butter for breakfast. I was sworn to secrecy because the men's ward frightened her. She wished me a happy day, and then asked me if I would make her one of my wonderful dresses. At first I was too taken aback to speak, but I soon agreed.

I was pushing oatmeal around in a bowl when a smiling Bonnie found me. She presented a flower that had been hidden behind her back. I asked her if it was for my birthday. She nodded once. Her eyes sparkled as I thanked her for the beautiful gift. I hugged her, and she whispered 'happy birthday' into my ear. I thanked her again. She smiled at me while she ate, but did not speak again.

Dr. Kippes greeted me with birthday wishes, and held up a small brass key. I took the key and looked at it with confusion. He informed me that we would not be having our usual session. We strolled to my room and in the corner where the chair had been stood a small wardrobe. It was well worn, but it was beautiful to me. I thanked him excitedly as I hung my dresses. He suggested that I keep my things locked up but did not elaborate. With my extra time that morning, I started Judith's dress.

Just as he had at Christmas, Griffen showered me with gifts. He brought me a small birthday cake adorned with a candle. The pastry was delicious, and I had it all to myself. I spent the next few hours with my favorite person in the world. My memory was not long, but I have to say it had been an amazing birthday.

Life at the Willows marched on, and it was not a horrible existence. I was content there. Griffen claimed it was because I did not know any different, but the life I had forgotten sounded quite miserable. I considered running away with him, but fear of the unknown held me there. After Dr. Kippes saw the dress that I'd made for Judith, he had an idea. I began making dresses that were sold in a local boutique. My designs sold well, and I loved being busy. You could even say I was happy.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten - The Hunter and the Prey**

I swear my scalp itched for an entire month. My hair grew only slightly faster than the average. It took nearly two months for me to have a length to be able to style. About that time, my designs were being sold in Jackson. I felt so accomplished, and the only one that was not happy for me was Helen. She had voiced her disapproval of my freedom too many times to count. Griffen wanted to take me away because he was afraid of what she might do. I assured him I would see it in time to avoid disaster, but he was not convinced.

Griffen and I grew very close. Most of the time I called him father, and he enjoyed that immensely. Bonnie had a major breakthrough. She still had not spoken, but the canine behavior had disappeared. She helped me every day making dresses and seemed content. When she could communicate again, she would likely be released. Judith spoke to me only when she was sure no one was around. She was still afraid of Helen.

A few weeks into spring, I was sitting with Bonnie. We were eating breakfast which was edible for once. She had been finger waving her hair for several weeks, and I was admiring her work when an extraordinary thing happened.

"There are enough decent sized apples on that tree outside for a lovely pie," she said brightly as if it were a normal occurrence "Doesn't an apple pie sound delightful?"

I gawked at her for several moments and then finally said, "Yes that would be delightful."

"Do you think they would let me make a pie?" she wondered.

"The cooks are a grumpy bunch," I said sadly then inspiration hit me, "We should ask Dr. Kippes."

"I don't know," she said unsurely.

"I know," I reassured.

After breakfast, Bonnie accompanied me to my daily appointment. Dr. Kippes was more than receptive. The three of us picked a basket of apples while Bonnie chattered. It was if a dam had broken, and the doctor was delighted. The kitchen staff looked at us strangely, as we washed and chopped apples. I popped a piece of apple into my mouth and found it on the tart side.

"Mama grew special pie apples in her orchard," I automatically commented.

His head snapped toward me and he asked, "What else do you remember?"

I gave him a confused look until I realized what I had said. He listened intently as I told him about my mother's orchard behind our home. I could see her tending to her trees, but that is as far the memory went. He said it was a good sign, but it was a wonderful gift for me. I remembered my mother, and my heart warmed with love.

Thankfully, Bonnie picked up the conversation. I did not want to remember my mother's death, but she talked about the death of her baby. Her story saddened me. After years of trying, she and her husband were finally blessed with a baby daughter. Her happiness only lasted ten days. One of her husband's hunting dogs mauled the infant while she had been napping. She rushed in not long after the attack had started but was unable to save the child.

"I kept thinking," she sighed, "If I had been another dog, I would have been able to save my precious girl. I would have known the moment the dog came in the house. I would have sensed its malicious intent."

She and Dr. Kippes went on to discuss how she felt about it now. They adjourned to the table as I slid the pie into the oven. They became engrossed in their personal conversation so I was able to slip out without being noticed. I made my way back out to the apple tree. As I leaned against it, I could almost feel my mama there. I basked in the safe and comforting presence for several minutes. All of a sudden, a feeling of foreboding crept over me. No vision accompanied the uneasy feeling.

A cackling guffaw shattered the peace in the courtyard. A handful of patients were out enjoying the lovely day. A tall thin woman was laughing madly and looking directly at me. A wild look filled her eyes that chilled me to the bone. The other residents paid her no mind. I wanted to flee, but fear anchored me.

"Death surrounds you," she declared and dissolved into giggles.

Her hysteria intensified. When she doubled over with laughter, my paralysis broke. I ran and did not stop until I reached the mending room. I paced for several minutes hugging myself. Was she crazy or was she like me? If I saw someone's death, I would never laugh at them. After some time, I decided she must be delusional. I tried throwing myself into my work in hopes of distraction, but doubts still lingered.

In frustration, I made my way back to the dining room. Lunch service was wrapping up, and Dr. Kippes was cutting into the pie. Bonnie smiled brightly when she spotted me. I tried to return the smile as I sat down but to no avail. Bonnie asked what was wrong. My voice shook as I told them about the woman in the courtyard.

"That would be Susannah," he said sadly, "She believes she can see death."

"Wonderful," I said sarcastically.

"You know that it is just a delusion," he inquired.

"Of course," I said more convincingly than I felt.

We sat and enjoyed our pie. Judith and a couple of orderlies also partook of the delicious pastry. I wanted so badly to talk to Bonnie or the doctor about my uneasy fear, but then I would have to admit that I believed in Susannah's delusions. It had been several weeks since I had had to endure a shock treatment. I think Dr. Kippes did not want me to forget how to sew so he had spared me the pain. If he knew how afraid I was, he would surely put me back on the schedule.

Once alone in the mending room, I considered confiding in Bonnie. I decided against it as she might tell the good doctor during therapy. I would wait and discuss it with Griffen. He was my only true friend and confidant. Focusing on my work was tough, and time seemed to stop. Bonnie asked me about it several times during the afternoon, but I assured her I was just a little shaken.

After what seemed a year, I was alone in my room. Helen commented on my demeanor as she locked my door. I wished her a good night as sweetly as I was able. I was far to keyed up to prepare for bed so I put a few miles on my Mary Janes pacing back and forth. When Griffen arrived, he found me in a state of near panic.

I threw myself into his cold stony embrace, and gushed out my worries. He listened patiently and assured me everything would be all right. During the day he would stay within earshot so if I needed him, he would be nearby. I was telling him that it was much too dangerous for him when a vision came to me.

_The hunter with light brown hair and red eyes paced in front of me. He inhaled deeply and told me that I had the most divine smelling blood he had ever tracked. Another stood in the shadows, but only bright orange hair was visible. When he turned his back, I tried to run. He caught me without much effort. His cold skin chilled me as he breathed in my scent. Then he waited no longer, he sunk his razor-sharp teeth deeply into my throat._

A cold hand was clasped over my mouth, and I tried to fight. I soon realized it was Griffen, and he was muffling my scream. I sobbed as I explained what I had seen.

"A tracker," he hissed and then asked, "Was he wearing a hooded robe?"

"No," I said shaking my head, "He looked destitute. His clothing was full of holes and he wore no shoes."

"Nomads," he mumbled and then declared, "I will take you away from here. We can leave now."

_A fierce eyed woman snaps bones in my arm as the hunter taunts Griffen. I cannot cry out because I know it will distract my father. He calls him a feeble old fool as my beloved friend attempts to fight. The evil creature soon grows weary and rips Griffen's head from his body. I begin to scream, but am silenced in the blink of an eye._

"It will do no good," I choked out hopelessly, "He will find us and kill you in front of me."

"What if I make a stand here?" he offered, "In the solitary confinement room. There are no windows and only one entry point."

_I am pressed into a padded corner as Griffen waits hidden just inside the door. There is a flash of movement too fast for my eyes to follow, and I am alone in the tiny room. I whimper as I hear a terrible ripping noise coming from the hallway. Suddenly the hunter is there in the doorway, and something dangles from his hand. He tosses it at my feet, and Griffen's eyes stare sightlessly through me._

"Again we die," I whisper.

"What if I carry you up the Black River to the Pearl River?" he suggested, "Then over to the Mississippi?"

The vision didn't come to me immediately as the others had. I started to feel a little hopeful, but my hopes were soon crushed. I saw the hunter catching up to us eventually, and again killing us both.

"Using the rivers will only delay him," I sighed, "He still kills us."

"How long of a delay?" Griffen asked hopefully.

"About forty eight hours give or take," I replied.

"What if I change you?" he wondered.

_The hunter paces near me, but I am unaware of his presence. He screams angrily at Griffen that there is not near enough of my precious blood left unchanged. His feline female holds my friend as the monster rips both legs from his body. My adopted father screams out in pain. Then the hunter asks him if he has any last words, and he says 'I love you little bird'. In the briefest moment, the two of them finish tearing him to pieces._

"It will be close," I said sadly, "But you are killed because it will anger him."

"If there is a chance you will be saved then I will take it," he replied solemnly.

"Don't say that father," I whimpered, "I can't lose you too."

He stared at me for a few moments and then gathered me in his arms. Tears fell from my eyes and onto his shirt. He cooed into my ear as he rocked me back and forth.

"You are too important," he choked, "Now there will be much pain. Please forgive me little bird."

"I love you father," I whispered as he bit me.

At first, it was not so bad, but it was not long until the burning started. He held me close to him, and his cold skin lessened the burning-slightly. He picked me up, and the next thing I knew we were under the stars. I felt like I was flying and the world blurred around me. The scorching pain steadily increased until I could no longer hold on, and darkness swallowed me.

**oooOooo**

**Thank you so much for reading this.**

**It's finally finished, and I hope you like it. I really enjoyed writing this. Please Review.**

**I am considering writing an epilogue from Griffen's point of view. If you are interested in reading it, please let me know.**


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

My tiny bird looked so fragile and afraid, but her fear was not for her own life-but for mine. Each time her eyes would clear of a vision, I watched the pain and grief occupy her lovely face. Alice had touched my life in such a profound way that I was prepared to do whatever was necessary to save her. I gently took her in my arms, and whispered my love into her sweet smelling hair. I told her how important she was and then apologized for the pain to come.

"I love you father," she whispered and I felt my heart double in size.

I bit her gingerly, and she barely flinched. I then pressed my cheek to the wound I had just made. The burn must have started, but she did not cry out. Her bravery made me smile. I wished that we could spend eternity together, and that is when the irony hit me. For over three centuries, I had wished for a true death. Now I wanted nothing more than to live with my sweet little bird.

_The hunter is coming._ The thought jerked me out of my reverie. I realized that if he killed her, my life would mean nothing once again. It was time to run. Sweeping her up in a quick motion, I swiftly made my way out into the courtyard. I leapt over the back fence without a care of who would see. Alice stared blankly at the starry sky, but she remained silent. I assured her that we would be in the water soon, and it may help the inferno blazing inside her. She did not seem to hear me and soon lost consciousness.

Over the next several hours, I ran with the current of the Leaf and then the Pearl River. I backtracked down the Big Black River until it met up with the Mississippi. At dawn, I cut across country toward the Smokey Mountains. I knew the Smokies well because they had been my hunting ground for years. I knew every hill, valley and cave for miles. They provided cover for me during the Civil War when I used to scavenge battlefields. I headed directly for a large cave with several chambers of different sizes.

"I apologize," I said softly near her ear as I found a sharp rock, "If you feel this. Be assured that it is considerably more painful for me."

Holding my breath, I cut her palm. The blood dripped strategically through the many chambers. With this done, I held the wound against my heart until the bleeding stopped. My little bird did not wake as I carried her awkwardly through a narrow passage. It led in the opposite direction of the cave's opening.

Immerging on the sand of a small creek, I again elected to follow a waterway for several miles. There was a small cave nestled behind a waterfall and that is where I made a soft bed of leaves. Time passed as I waited for her wake, but she did not.

"I hate to leave you alone," I told her regretfully, "But I must slow the beast down. Know that these last hours with you have given me the strength to face my fate. There was a reason that little girl spared me all those years ago. I was meant to save you as I could not save my Abigail. Who knows, maybe we will both make it through this and…and be a family. Your sunny outlook has rubbed off on me."

Her birdlike heartbeat quickened slightly when I kissed her forehead and told her that I loved her. After a last glance, I left at a human's pace. She mumbled what sounded like Jasper, but I could not be sure. Our time had run out so I made a zigzag pattern back to the first cave. The thought of her having pleasant dreams of her angel made me smile.

I positioned myself on a narrow ledge above the cave's mouth and did not have to wait long. Alice had warned that there were two of them, but I only saw the tracker. He was so focused on his hunt that he did not notice where I was perched. In turn, my attention was solely on him and that allowed his mate to sneak up behind me. Without warning, the fierce redhead pushed me.

"What do we have here?" he crowed as I landed at his feet, "Look at this decrepit old creature you were so worried about Victoria."

"I'm sorry James," she cowed in a childlike voice, "I only thought we should be cautious."

Ignoring her, he breathed in deeply and said, "You better have left some of that sweet blood for me if you know what's good for you grizzled relic."

"Is this how you treat your elders?" I asked and smiled, "You must have missed your father's lesson on manners."

"The Iroquois killed my mum and my pere before they could teach me any manners," James said laughingly, "My unique charm is self taught."

"I have yet to hear anything resembling charm or manners," I commented then the female pounced on me like a cat.

"He is charming," she shrieked and bit off my ear.

After three centuries, I had forgotten what it was to feel pain. Now the sharp edge of the long forgotten thing was disorienting. I cried out until I heard their laughter then my anger took hold. Silence came easily when I concentrated on rage. I tried to buck the feral female off me, but she held firm as if she had claws.

"Now answer my question," he inquired smugly, "Did you drain her?"

"I cannot hear you as I have lost my ear," I hissed through my teeth.

"Victoria," James chimed and then she bit off my other ear.

"I did not drink from her!" I burst out, "I love her."

They both laughed heartily and then he continued, "You love a human. Isn't that rich? Her blood smells fresh and young, and you are so…old."

"It's disgusting," Victoria said in jest, "And immoral really."

"She reminds me of my daughter," I defended, "And I treat her as such."

"How sweet," he said smiling, "If you treated humans as if they were prey, you would still have ears my friend."

"I am not your friend," I said flatly, "You would not understand how important she is even if I painted you a picture."

"No," James replied amused, "Tell me."

When I stayed silent, the redhead hissed in my ear, "Tell him or lose your nose."

Instead of speaking, I buried my face in the damp soil. A metallic ripping noise echoed in my ears as pain flared from my hand. She had bitten or ripped off a finger or two. I dared not look at the damage, as she would then have access to my nose. I again tried to struggle free, but she only squealed with delight.

"Are you ready to tell me now?" he asked laughingly.

"I'm not giving her my nose," I mumbled into the soil.

"I give my word that your nose is safe," James offered, "As a sign of good faith I will show you something you probably didn't know about yourself."

I felt light pressure on either side of my head that was soon followed by a strange crackling noise. The pain lessened significantly, and I brought my hand up to investigate. My ear was again attached to my skull, but I noticed immediately something was amiss. The ear that was now on the left side of my head was actually my right one. It faced backward.

"I've given you back your ears," James pronounced proudly, "Let's have a look."

I slowly raised my head and glared up at him then said, "There is something wrong with you."

"No," Victoria giggled childishly, "There is something wrong with you."

"That just proves you cannot comprehend how special she is," I said and pointed at my mutilation, "Your maturity is also absent."

"Well then enlighten me," James challenged, "Tell my why I shouldn't kill you both. What makes her so _special_ besides her intoxicating blood?"

"It's a long tale to tell," I sighed trying to bait him, "I don't think you have the patience for it."

"I'll decide that," he snapped defensively, "Begin your tale old one."

I nodded as solemnly as I could. He took the bait, and hiding my pleasure proved difficult. I started from the beginning and used much detail. I hoped they would not notice that I was stalling. Luck was with me, as they seemed to accept my long-windedness as a symptom of my age. James seemed to be genuinely interested, as he would stop me periodically to ask questions.

"Then a few nights ago," I said nearing the end of my story, "My little bird had a vision of you killing her. I considered running with her, but she foresaw you catching us."

"Why did you bother to run?" he interrupted curious.

"Well," I began slowly, "I voiced other options. For example, I thought I could make a stand in the Willow's basement, but everything offered ended the same."

"Thank you," he said smugly, "You have made this one of my more entertaining and challenging hunts."

"I'm not finished," I said mirroring his smugness because I knew I had beaten him, "My final offer was to change her and she accepted."

I let the words hang there in the air, and he hissed, "You bit her?"

"Yes," I said lovingly, "I made her my true daughter."

His rage filled roar echoed through the valley, and he spat, "Watch the old fool and don't let him get away."

Victoria nodded as he disappeared into the cave. She began to taunt me, but I was able to ignore her. A feeling of calm came over me, and I knew Alice was going to live. It was as if she had passed a tiny bit of her gift to me through her blood. An image of a young vampire flashed into my mind and I gasped. He had golden eyes that matched his golden locks, and I knew immediately that it was her Jasper.

My little bird looked so vibrant and beautiful as she walked up to him with love in her eyes. He smiled humbly back at her and then the vision changed. I was witness to their wedding. Their family surrounded the couple as they promised to love one another forever. Somehow, I knew each of their names. Carlisle and Esme looked on with pride. Rosalie rolled her eyes as Emmett whispered something in her ear. Edward shot them both a warning glance.

Scenes of Alice flashed through my mind. I felt serene watching her love, laugh and live. Then suddenly, I was being violently shaken. The vision dissipated as if it had been smoke, but the feelings lingered. When my eyes opened, the hunter's face hovered right in front of mine. He was spitting venom on me as he screamed. Then a sobering thought brought me back to reality.

"I had planned to let you live," he said in disgust and dropped me to the ground, "But you denied me the most amazing blood I have ever smelled."

"That is not the only thing I have denied you," I said knowingly, "When I bit her I must have swallowed a little of her blood. While you were gone, I had visions of my little bird's future."

"You're just senile old man," he dismissed not understanding my point.

"No," I explained, "I'm not. If you had drained her, you too would have had the ability to see the future. Imagine the power you could have had."

"Ridiculous!" he spat out.

I knew he planned to make my death long and torturous so I said, "Well it is a blessing that I stole her away from you because you are too _stupid_ to know what to do with that kind of power."

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I let myself drift back to my memories of Alice. My precious little bird filled my mind in those last moments of my existence. Then the darkness fell on me like a lead weight.

"_Griff," _my wife Joyce whispered from the darkness, "_I have been waiting for you."_


End file.
